


The Best Birthday Ever

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Flipside AU [14]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventure, Big family gathering, Enchanted Bicycle, F/M, Ford Pines Has Issues, Gen, Humor, Pines Twins Birthday, Stan Pines Has Issues, Stan Pines Has Low Self-Esteem, more tags as I come up with them, the wild hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24388333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: Stan and Ford have their first birthday together since they reconciled their differences.  Thanks to an...INTERESTING present they receive, a few unexpected incidents occur.  But hey, it wouldn't be the Pines family if it was just a normal holiday for them, now would it?
Relationships: "Manly" Dan Corduroy/Wendy Corduroy's Mother, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Ford Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Stan Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Tate McGucket, Fiddleford H. McGucket/Emma-May Dixon, Ford Pines & "Manly" Dan Corduroy, Ford Pines & Sherman "Shermie" Pines & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Janet (OC) - Relationship, Matilda Blerble (OC) and the boys, Several other combinations apply, Stan Pines & "Manly" Dan Corduroy
Series: Flipside AU [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587223
Comments: 277
Kudos: 120





	1. The curious incident of the bicyclists in the nighttime

**Author's Note:**

> Before you smart alecks make any comments, yes, I have been getting sleep. This time I have a semi-valid excuse, because on Memorial Day my roommate and I woke up early to go on a hike, and then when I got home I ended up crashing for a few hours, so I was probably going to be up late anyway. So hush your mouths.

It was a perfect June evening; the sun was setting, a cool breeze was blowing through the trees and providing a nice contrast to the previous heat of the day, and the air was filled with the sounds of birds fleeing the giant vampire bats.

The troupe of Gosling Scouts (a division of scouts exclusive to the Pacific Northwest territory, which to probably no one’s surprise whatsoever was originally formed by Quentin Trembley) that was in the Gravity Falls forest were still working on setting up their campsite. The handful of twelve-to-fourteen-year-olds were doing their best to set up tents and get the campfire started, but given that this was a group of preteen and teenage boys all gathered together far from the constraints of society and their parents, I’m sure you can imagine their levels of efficiency, or lack thereof.

“Guys, come on!” Scoutmaster Valentino said, trying to maintain even his chipper personality in the face of the chaos unfolding before him. “We can try to kill each other with marshmallow skewers after we finish setting up the tents, okay? No-Gerald, Sean, please stop ganging up on Buddy, that’s not fair to him. Jason, it’s really not safe to try to stick that up your nose, I don’t care how funny the other guys think it is, if it gets stuck there you won’t think it’s quite so funny-Michael, please put the tent pegs the other way-”

He was interrupted by a shrill whistle, and the voice of the other scoutmaster bellowing, “ **FALL IN, SCUM!!!!** ”

* * *

Nobody could out-yell a group of kids and get them to pay attention quite like Scoutmaster Grendinator. Immediately the troupe stopped their various antics, and turned to face him with looks best described as “mortal terror.”

The older man gave them all a scolding glare.

“ **YOU PUNKS ARE HERE TA LEARN ABOUT WILDERNESS SURVIVAL, SO STOP GOOFING OFF AND PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT MR. VALENTINO AND I ARE TRYNA TEACH YOU!** ”

Once he saw that he had their attention, he returned to his normal speaking volume.

“FIRST OFF, LET’S GET THOSE TENTS SET UP! HUP TO IT!”

Hurriedly the boys obeyed, with Scoutmaster Grendinator occasionally barking orders at them for the right way to use the hammer, or what kind of knot to tie, etc.

He gave Scoutmaster Valentino a grim smile. “YOU GOTTA BE FIRM WITH THESE MAGGOTS, ROBERT. OTHERWISE THEY STEP OUTTA LINE THE FIRST CHANCE THEY GET- _ PUT THAT DOWN, HODGES, OR YOU’RE GONNA DO PUSH-UPS UNTIL YOUR ARMS BREAK OFF! _ ”

Scoutmaster Valentino gave a noncommittal sigh. He supposed there was some validity to the older man’s assertion that his attempts at playing nice with the boys weren’t as effective as he wished, but at the same time he wasn’t sure that being their drill sergeant was the best solution either…

Regardless, once the tents were set up Scoutmaster Grendinator got the ones who needed the merit badge started on building the fire.

“AND THE REST OF YOU CAN ALL FIND SOMETHING TO DO!” he bellowed. “GET STARTED ON PUTTING TOGETHER DINNER, FIND A FRESH WATER SOURCE, CREATE A SENTRY DUTY, SOMETHING! REMEMBER-” he paced back and forth in front of them, hands behind his back, “THESE WOODS ARE A DANGEROUS PLACE! YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO BE PREPARED FOR ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING! AND I MEAN  _ ANYTHING _ !”

And then, out of nowhere, a large form came crashing out of the trees and speeding towards them, forcing Scoutmaster Grendinator to leap sideways just in time to avoid being run over.

As it zoomed past, Scoutmaster Valentino got a relatively good look, and saw that it was a large red bicycle with flames painted on the sides, and what appeared to be real flames shooting out of the wheels, which was kind of funny because it wasn’t even a motorcycle, which you would expect to have that kind of decor.

The bicycle was being ridden by two men who Scoutmaster Valentino could have sworn were those strange Pines boys, who lived in that cabin in the woods and had only recently started coming into town again. Both of them were screaming at the top of their lungs, and the whole ensemble swayed at dangerous angles as they tried to careen through the campsite without running into any of the scouts, who dived out of the way as quickly as they could. They were unable to avoid smashing into several tents, however, not to mention speeding through one of the newly created campfires. As they did, the man on the back of the bicycle leaned down and snatched a bottle of lighter fluid from where it had been dropped by one of the scouts, pouring out the whole thing onto the bike’s wheels and throwing it back on the ground in one fluid motion. A second later the wheels fully burst into flames...and then things  _ really _ got weird.

Namely, the bicycle began to go even faster, and just before they could collide with a tree right in front of them, it reared up on its back wheel...and then kept going.

As in, they rode right up the side of the tree, and didn’t come back down.

The flying bicycle hovered for a moment, before the one in front twisted the handlebars and started pedaling even more frantically, and they took off towards the west, leaving behind a trail of smoke in the air.

* * *

There was a long silence, as the little scout troop took in what had just happened.

They stared at the scorched bicycle tracks that went through their camp and up the side of the tree, and the burning, collapsed tents, and the scattered campfire.

“...Nice demonstration, Arvid,” Scoutmaster Valentino whispered to Scoutmaster Grendinator at last.

For once, Scoutmaster Grendinator was silent; his mouth just flapped up and down in bewildered shock.

“I wonder what they were trying to get away from?” the younger man wondered as he helped him up and prepared to give orders for everyone to get started putting out the fires.

He realized seconds later that maybe he shouldn’t have asked: there was a loud rumbling, crashing noise, and he saw an angry-looking red light approaching through the trees, and coming fast.

Scoutmaster Valentino yelled out the first order that the troop unquestioningly obeyed from him that night.

“RUN FOR YOUR LIVES, BOYS!!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, the scout master is not Robbie's father, but his grandfather. And the same goes for Mr. Grendinator vis-a-vis Grenda.


	2. But before I tell you THAT story, I have to tell you THIS story

**Sorry, sorry.**

**I kind of brought you** **_in medias res_ ** **, so I’m sure all of you have a lot of questions.**

**Let’s go back a bit and see if we can answer them.**

**_Cue rewinding noise_ **

* * *

“Kings of New Jersey! Kings of New Jersey!”

Two excited voices chanted as their young owners marched down the beach, tugging the derelict sailboat behind them and completely uncaring of how sunburned their faces and unprotected upper bodies were becoming.

* * *

**No, wait, sorry, that’s too far back.**

**_Fastforward_ **

* * *

_ Well, Vegas officially sucks. _

Stanley knew, because he knew himself way too well, that sooner or later he’d probably change his mind about this, the next time things started looking up for him here-

* * *

**A little more, please…**

**_Fastforward_ **

**A few days earlier**

**There, that’s perfect! Start there!**

* * *

**A few days earlier**

Janet smiled at Stan as he stepped into her office, making himself comfortable in one of the plushy blue armchairs.

“How are you feeling today, Stanley?”

“Pretty good.” He scratched his ribs idly. “Haven’t had a panic attack in a couple weeks, and started up a new trading system with some freshwater mermaids who’ve been migrating up and down the river.”

“That’s great to hear!” She beamed at him, and lifted her pencil. “So, what did you want to talk about today?”

A lot of his and Ford’s visits had been for group therapy sessions, but today it was just him and Janet. This was nice, because there was something in particular he wanted to talk about without his brother around.

“Our birthday’s on the fifteenth,” he said aloud without really thinking about it.

Janet’s eyebrows rose. “Congratulations! How does that make you feel?”

Stan looked down at his shoes. “...Kinda nervous.”

“It’s gonna be our first birthday together since we were seventeen,” he explained without needing to be prompted. “And that feels like a whaddya call it-a milestone.”

A moment later, two curly-haired boys ran through the room, laughing and yelling. The one with glasses was wielding a dripping paintbrush in his six-fingered hand, and had a large smear of bright red paint in his hair, making it stick straight up in the back.

“When I catch you you’re gonna get it, Stanley!” he yelled, though he was grinning too much to be actually mad.

“You mean  _ if _ you catch me!” young Stan hollered back, diving behind Stan’s chair. As young Ford chased after him, they vanished back into thin air.

“That was a good birthday,” Stan said with a wistful smile. Then he frowned. “I guess this is just makin’ me worried that, in the long run...this is too good to last. That sooner or later Ford’s gonna get tired of me hanging around and ask me to move out, or…”

He couldn’t say it. Just imagining it made bile rise in his throat.

Janet nodded understandingly. “It’s natural to feel that way after the type of experiences you’ve had. Have you talked to Stanford about how you’re feeling?”

Stan grimaced. “Uhhh…”

“That means no.” She sighed. “Stanley-”

“Well, I don’t want him ta feel bad, okay? He’s already apologized like a million times for lettin’ me get kicked out and stayin’ mad for so long, I don’t wanna keep beatin’ a dead horse! Especially not on our birthday!”

Stan hunched uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

After a moment, Janet said, “It’s so good of you to want to keep your brother happy, and try not to dredge up old wounds. That’s very selfless of you, Stanley. But, it’s not healthy for you to bottle up your worries. You know that.”

“...Yeah, I know.” He also knew what was coming next...and wasn’t wild about it.

“I think you need to say the mantra again. Please?”

He looked up with a sigh, and said in a monotone, “Stanley’s feelings are important too.”

Janet tilted her head and stared at him pointedly until he said, with more firmness in his voice, “Stanley’s feelings are important too.”

“Good job.”

He grunted in annoyance.

“I know you’re skeptical, Stanley, but sometimes saying a thing will make it easier for you to believe it. Especially if you say it with the right tone of voice.” Janet turned to a fresh page in her notepad. “What else is on your mind today?”

* * *

As he walked back home, Stan kicked a rock with the toe of his shoe, losing himself in thought. At the end of the session, Janet had given him an assignment: before the week was out, she wanted him to talk to Ford about his worries that he was going to get kicked out again one day. Just the thought of it had him fighting the urge to throw up, because while he had been honest about not wanting to make his twin feel bad about everything that had gone down...a part of him was also scared that it might be true.

Even if Ford wouldn’t necessarily toss him out with nothing but the clothes on his back and a packed duffle, maybe he’d decide that he needed more space, and that Stan was taking up more than his fair share even though he was careful never to get in the way of Ford’s experiments and kept all his junk more or less regulated to his own room.

Did it make him a little codependent that even the thought of moving out of the house made his hands start sweating, and his throat grow tight, and he was suddenly having trouble walking in a straight line?

_ Great. And here I was doing such a good job of not having panic attacks. _

Stan staggered into a nearby tree, leaning his forehead against the bark and bracing his arm over his head until his breathing calmed.

He felt like a total goofus saying it, but once he was capable of forming coherent speech he muttered, “Stanley’s feelings are important too.”

He wasn’t sure if it made him feel better, but he murmured it to himself all the way home.

Where he stopped in his tracks at the sight of a large crate sitting in the driveway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...As I said, I have no experience with being a professional therapist. So please don't sue me if you try any of my methods used here for handling psychological issues and they don't work.


	3. Arrival of the enchanted velocipede

Stan was not the only one feeling nervous and excited about their birthday.

Ford had realized that it was coming up too, and he was like a cat on hot bricks about it.

To be honest, this was the first time in years he was thinking about actually _celebrating_ his birthday, beyond talking to his mother for an hour and then pouring himself a drink and going back to his research. It wasn’t like he’d had anyone to celebrate with after coming to Gravity Falls, and he hadn’t even wanted to, because thinking about it dredged up all these bittersweet and just plain bitter memories.

But now...he wanted to do something special for himself and Stanley.

He at least prided himself on coming up with the perfect present, and with a little help from Shermie he’d arranged for it to be ready by the fifteenth.

Speaking of Shermie, he and his family were going to finally arrive here tomorrow for their promised visit. Fiddleford had also called and said that he’d talked it over with Emma-May, and even though traveling with a six-month-old baby was a major pain in the neck he wanted to come and visit Gravity Falls for the summer. He had planned to get a hotel in town so the house wouldn’t be too crowded, but Ford had arranged for them to stay at Dan’s cabin instead. Fiddleford had protested about not wanting to impose, but eventually he’d agreed to pay Dan back by doing odd jobs around the place during his stay.

To prepare for the onslaught of visitors, Ford had finally knuckled under and gotten started on his part of the housekeeping: child-proofing the house by moving all his potentially dangerous/unstable/highly unsanitary research to either his room or the basement.

Once he actually got started, he was surprised by how quick the process was; he ignored his inner Stan/Mom saying “See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” and just focused on deciding whether or not he should put the jar containing floating eyeball corpses preserved in formaldehyde to the left or right of the mummified monkey’s paw (there was a note attached to its wrist: “Do NOT make wishes while holding! Not even to see if it works! This means YOU!”).

On the one hand, putting them to the left would be better for keeping his inventory in alphabetical order; on the other hand, he’d found the monkey’s paw first, so shouldn’t he put that first to keep things in a chronological order?

Ford was still wondering about it, and come to think of it whether he should reorganize the entire rest of the basement first, when the door at the top of the stairs was thrown open, and a familiar gravelly voice called down, “Hey genius, were you plannin’ on getting a package today?”

Ford went to the foot of the stairs, puzzled. “Package?”

“Yeah, there’s a really big one outside! Is it some new science crap or what?”

“I didn’t order anything.” Ford went up to meet his brother, who raised his eyebrows.

“Then what’s this thing?” He pointed to the crate sitting in front of the porch.

“...Well, based on the observations I can make from this distance…” Ford tilted his head, and adjusted his glasses thoughtfully, “...I’d say it’s a crate.”

Stan punched him in the arm. “Real funny, nerd.”

Ford laughed. “Come on, let’s go see what it is.”

* * *

There was no return address. Ford wasn’t aware that packages could be legally delivered without one, but he knew what the legal system in Gravity Falls was like, and he suspected that the postal system probably wasn’t much better.

Stan had grabbed a crowbar out of the trunk of the Stanley Mobile, and he tapped it thoughtfully into his palm as he walked around the crate.

“You could pack at least three people into one of these. It’d be a little cramped, but as long as you stay facing the boards you can breathe just fine.”

Ford shot him a worried glance. “Do you know this from personal experience?”

“...” Stan cleared his throat, and then blatantly changed the subject. “Hopefully it’s not a dead body or somethin’.” He prodded the side of the crate with the crowbar, and when nothing happened, he rapped on it a couple of times, and then actually leaned down and sniffed it. At last he shrugged and began working the lid off.

“Stanley, wait! We don’t know what-” Before Ford could finish, the lid fell to the ground, followed quickly by an explosion of packing peanuts. And then, a few moments later, they were joined by the front half of a bicycle.

“What the…” Stan blinked, then dropped the crowbar and pulled it the rest of the way into the light so they could get a better look.

The bike was painted blood red, with flame decorations, and was one of those ones that had a headlight on the front and some metal areas between the back spokes that one person could stand on while another one pedaled. Ford didn’t know that much about bicycles, not having ridden one since he was fifteen, but this one looked like it was brand new.

“...Well, that’s random.” Stan poked the handlebars with one thick finger. “Like the color, though. Matches the car.”

Technically the color was a little brighter than the Stanley Mobile, but Ford was too busy digging through the packing peanuts to see if he could find a note or something to correct him.

There was nothing; no message of any kind indicating who this was from, or even why they’d received it.

Ford’s weirdness sense had started tingling like crazy.

“Hold on, I’m going to grab something.”

He hurried into the house, returning with a charm Stan had been traded by the Unseelie Court, and held it over the bicycle while muttering the spell that would start it up.

If it had turned black, it would have been a sign that they should get rid of the bike as quickly as possible, and then scrubbed their hands in a mixture of holy water and rosemary to wash away the curse or whatever else had tainted it. The charm didn’t turn black, but it didn’t turn white either, which would have meant it was just an ordinary vehicle. Instead it turned a bright electric blue-so there was something weird about the bicycle, but not necessarily harmful to them.

Ford grinned.

“You don’t happen to have a helmet, do you, Stanley?”

Stan gave him a look. “Think about that for a second. How likely do ya think it is that a guy who hasn’t used a bike since he got his driver’s licence and a car would happen ta have a helmet lying around?”

“I was just _asking_ ; you don’t need to get snippy with me.” With a small shrug, Ford went over to the bike and, after only one more second of thought, climbed onto it. The seat was a little lower than he would have liked, but his feet fit comfortably enough onto the pedals.

“Um, you sure it’s a good idea ta ride the strange bike that we’ve never seen before and we’ve got no idea who it’s from?” Stan asked, looking uneasy.

“I checked; it’s safe.” Ford struggled to get the kickstand up, then looked up at his twin expectantly. “C’mon. It’s got some kind of magic on it, I want to find out what it is.”

He could see the hesitation in Stan’s face, and it sent a small pang through his heart.

True, some of their recent experiences after one of them said something like that had resulted in some very dangerous, painful situations...but they hadn’t completely ruined Stan’s sense of adventure, had they?

And then Stan circled around behind him, and climbed onto the back of the bike, planting his feet on the metal cylinders and clamping his hands on Ford’s shoulders.

“Let’s see what this thing can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, technically it's not an actual velocipede, since the wheels are the same height. I just thought the title sounded cool, okay? Don't judge me.


	4. Stan avoids the issue (surprising: no one)

To someone who had spent the majority of the last few years either traveling in a car or on foot (the closest he’d come to anything else was thinking about joining a motorcycle gang that he’d heard eventually wound up in jail in Colombia), a bicycle kind of felt like a death trap on wheels. It was way more rickety and wobbly than Stan remembered them being, and he was painfully aware of how exposed to pretty much everything he and Ford were, meaning that crashing this thing could easily result in a broken limb-or, since neither of them were wearing helmets, a broken head.

He felt stupid for thinking about this; he’d had plenty of fun with his and Ford’s bike (Filbrick had been too cheap to buy more than one) when they were kids, and yeah, they’d both had their share of scrapes and bruises from riding it, but it had never been anything he couldn’t handle. 

And there were always risks in life; that was part of the fun of living. He didn’t get why he was getting all bent out of shape about it now, unless it was more stupid PTSD crap.

Besides, Ford appeared to be having fun; he didn’t want to spoil this for him.

Eventually Stan relaxed a little as they continued down the road, trees and bushes and a few gnomes whizzing past his field of vision. Even though something in him tensed every time they went over a particularly large root or rock, Ford seemed to have things more or less under control, and the wind in his hair was admittedly kind of nice.

“Where we goin’?” he asked.

“What?”

“WHERE WE GOIN’?”

Ford winced, and Stan remembered that maybe he shouldn’t yell directly into his brother’s ear.

“Sorry!” He changed his tone to something loud enough to be heard over the wind, but not too loud.

“It’s okay!” Ford shook his head, accidentally jerking the handlebars a little and almost giving Stan a heart attack before he righted them. “I was thinking we’d just go to town and back and see if that triggers anything!”

“Maybe it needs ta be activated by reciting a spell or something!” Stan pointed out.

“Good point-maybe it needs verbal commands! Bike! Can you understand us?”

The bike did not respond.

“Bicycle! Velocipede! Do you have a name?”

Still no answer.

They tried multiple variations of this idea as they rode, yelling spells and incantations in an attempt to trigger whatever power this bike had. Stan even tried seeing if it knew Spanish, or any other tidbits of languages he’d picked up, though those mostly consisted of death threats and demands for money and stuff so maybe they weren’t the best option. But there was no response other than a few passersby on the road giving them weird looks.

“Maybe there’s some other trigger,” Ford mused, pedaling more slowly when they reached the outskirts of town. He checked over the handlebars. “It doesn’t have gears, so that rules out anything to do with that...maybe if you reach a certain speed it triggers something…”

“Hey, maybe if you go fast enough it’ll travel back in time!” Stan suggested. He had never heard of that being a thing before, but it sounded right for some reason.

Ford’s eyes lit up. “Maybe!” And he immediately began pumping his legs faster.

“Uh, Ford, now might not be the best place-LOOK OUT!”

Ford barely saw the limo ahead of them in time, and swerved the handlebars in a way that nearly made both of them eat dirt.

Without thinking about it Stan’s arms glomped around him, ready to shield him with his own body if they crashed-

But somehow the bike managed to right itself, and they were able to zoom past the open window revealing an astonished Old Man Northwest was sitting in the back. Unfortunately, Stan was too busy getting his heart rate back under control to flip him off as they passed his limo, and he inwardly cursed himself for the lost opportunity.

“...Um, Stanley? If you want me-to keep pedaling-I need to be able to breathe.”

Quickly Stan released his brother, returning his grip to his shoulders. Ford twisted his head like he wanted to look at him but was reminding himself that he needed to watch the road.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting that. It’s fine.”

* * *

For a minute they rode in silence, just watching the scenery pass by as they finally reached town.

And the thought rose, completely unbidden, that maybe now was a good time to talk about that thing with Ford that he really didn’t want to talk about.

_ Heck no! I got until the end of the week, I’m not doin’ it right now! _

_ Then when? _

_ During a time that’s not now! _

_ What’s keeping you from doing it now? _ asked the annoying voice that liked to show up during occasions like this.

_...For one thing, Sixer needs ta concentrate on pedaling and not crashing us! If I start askin’ him if he’s gonna kick me out one day, that’ll definitely screw with his focus! _

“Stanley?”

_ If you keep puttin’ it off you’re only gonna make it worse. _

_ I don’t even know what I wanna say! It’ll work better if I figure it out first- _

_ Wait, did Ford just say my name? _

“Huh?”

“Do you want to go right or left?”

Oh; they were at the main crossroads of town. Stan randomly picked: “Left.”

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Ford said as he turned, using a hand signal like a dork.

“...Are you complaining? I thought you’d enjoy that for once.”

Even when facing the back of his head, Stan could still tell Ford was rolling his eyes. “I’m just wondering if something’s bothering you, Stanley.”

_ This is as good a time as any! He’s even giving you an opening by asking if something’s wrong! Don’t waste it! _

“Uh-I, uh-”

While he was still stuck between the options of a) just blurting it out, b) lying, or c) changing the subject/pointing out a distraction, three things happened that decided the issue for him.

  1. They rode past the gas station, where unfortunately there had been a mishap at one of the filling stations thanks to some particularly rowdy teens, and as a result a large puddle of gasoline had dripped onto the ground.
  2. The bike rode through the aforesaid puddle of gasoline.
  3. Without any kind of warning whatsoever, the wheels of the bike burst into flames.



* * *

(Meanwhile, on the other side of the forest, a dark figure wearing a helmet crowned with deer antlers jerked around hard enough to get whiplash, as if pulled by an unseen thread. Despite its features being hidden by shadows, its posture was suddenly, visibly suffused with an air of triumph.

“FINALLY.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During last Christmas vacation I went bike riding with two of my nieces, and my feelings towards bicycles were basically the same as Stan's. Especially because at one point my feet slipped off the pedals, and it was only by the skin of my teeth that I managed not to crash. Unlike with these two, though, at least the bike I used never caught fire.
> 
> Somewhat unrelated thought: maybe it's just me, but I think Stan's theme song could basically be "Do It For Her" from Steven Universe, except of course it'd be "Do It For Him."


	5. The mandatory E.T. moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy June, everybody.

Needless to say, neither of the boys was all that keen about continuing to be on a bicycle that had spontaneously set itself on fire. Ford’s knee-jerk reaction was to stop pedaling immediately, and jump off before he got burned; unfortunately, he was unable to follow his knee-jerk reaction, because out of the blue the bike began to move itself at an unprecedented speed.

“FORD! STOP PEDALING!” Stan yelled in terror as they went flying down the main road of town.

“I CAN’T! IT WON’T LET ME!”

He wasn’t lying; try as he might, Ford was suddenly unable to remove his feet from the pedals, or apply the brakes with his hands. It was like his appendages were stuck in their places, forcing them to go at a speed that was climbing by the second, and which, as the wind blew his hair off his forehead and made tears stream from his eyes in a steady flow, he realized might be considered fast for  _ motorcycles _ , let alone bicycles. He barely registered terrified pedestrians jumping out of their way, or the faint sounds of the town’s only fire truck wailing its siren in the distance.

And then he saw with horror that they were careening straight. Towards. The side of a most inconveniently placed brick wall.

The boys’ reaction to this was on pretty much the same wavelength: “AAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!”

Just as Ford was certain that they were both about to die by smashing themselves into the wall on a flaming bicycle, it rose up onto its back wheel, and slammed into it that way. There was a moment of disorientation on Ford’s part, before he realized that the bike had not only hit the wall-it was now riding straight up the side of it-and then that they were going up, up, up...and away.

* * *

_ We have a flying bicycle. _

_ We have a  _ flying bicycle.

_ This has got to be one of the coolest things that’s ever happened to me! _

Ford looked down as the pedaling took them higher, and he saw that the flames had wrapped themselves around the wheels; even though he could feel the warmth emanating from them, there was no pain, and they didn’t seem to be spreading at all.

_ Incredible! I’ve never heard of anything like this-is it that the bicycle’s flying ability is somehow powered by coming into contact with a flammable substance, or are there other factors involved? I wonder how high this thing can go? How much is triggered by pedaling, and how much by angling of the handlebars, and- _

_ Wait. _

_ Stanley is very, very afraid of heights. _

_ I should check on him before I worry about all of that. _

Ford could feel his brother’s hands gripping his shoulders so tight that they were probably going to leave bruises; that was already a bad sign.

He glanced over his shoulder as best he could; from what he could see, Stan had turned a ghastly shade of gray-white, and his forehead was drenched with sweat. An updraft suddenly made the bike shake up and down, and Stan swayed backwards with a groan; as he did, his grip started to slide free.

Moving at the speed of sheer terror (which is capable of being a million times faster than the speed of light under the right circumstances), Ford released the handlebars with one hand, barely noticing that being up in the air appeared to have loosened them from whatever magic had kept them pinned in place, and grabbed his brother’s wrist, yanking him as close to him as possible.

“STANLEY I  _ FORBID _ YOU TO FAINT!”

To his utter relief, this had enough of an effect to bring Stan out of it a little; he blinked, and even though he still looked very off-color he at least tightened his grip on Ford’s shoulder with his other hand.

Ford was still not pacified. “Here.” He started to release the handlebars with his other hand-and immediately grabbed onto them again when the bike started tipping forwards. He took a moment to wait for his heart to restart.

_...Okay. Let’s try that again. _

Making sure to keep a grip on the handlebars with at least  _ one _ hand at all times, he reached around and pulled Stan’s arms down so they were wrapped securely around his middle. “Now just hold on, and don’t look straight up or straight down, okay?”

“Sorry if I puke on you,” Stan groaned, leaning his forehead on his shoulder.

“As long as you’re still there to do so.” Ford squeezed his hands, before returning to holding on to the handlebars.

Stan let out a small gurgle that, despite his words, made Ford worry that he really was about to be thrown up on, but somehow he held it in.

Some experimentation demonstrated to Ford that not pedaling meant that they would hover in place, and if he wanted to go in a certain direction he just needed to turn the handlebars that way. Leaning forward or tilting back seemed to dictate whether they went up or down; he wondered if tilting sideways would make them do a barrel roll or something, but decided not to test it. He also decided not to see if he actually needed to hold on to the handlebars to stay in the air or if that had been just a fluke, because Stanley was up here with him and going through enough torture at the moment; he’d wait for a time when he was up here by himself. Because this  _ definitely _ required further experimentation, not to mention answers about who had sent them this gift.

Ford finally thought to wonder how many people in town had been witness to them riding a flaming bicycle up into the air. By now they were over the part of the forest he was pretty sure was Kill Billy territory, out of sight of any human residents, but an image flittered into his thoughts of a helicopter and camera crew out searching for them. He couldn’t help preening a little at the thought, but it would be a lot better if that happened after he actually got some answers about its origins and properties. And, of course, if he could include it with a concrete answer on why Gravity Falls had such high levels of weirdness, so he could present his findings to the world and become famous.

...Though honestly, Ford realized out of the blue that he hadn’t thought about the latter idea as much as he used to, ever since the Bill incident. He still enjoyed studying all the unusual creatures and objects of this town, of course, but it had been a long time since he had even looked at the passage in his first research journal where he had started writing about the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness.

How odd.

* * *

Ford pushed the thoughts aside for the time being, and took note of the amazing view from up here. An enormous green ocean of trees stretched out as far as the eye could see, tinted with gold here and there where the sunshine hit just right, and the mountains creating a majestic backdrop in the distance. There was a cool breeze from this high up, and the fire powering the wheels was creating a nice campfire smell that brought back good memories of camping with his brother.

His nauseous, profusely sweating brother who he could feel trembling against him, and who had to be hating this experience with every fiber of his being.

_ Right. _

_ I can do this later. _

Reluctantly he turned towards the area he was pretty sure was home.

It took a little longer than he’d thought to get there, because there was a difference between finding landmarks on the ground and finding them in the air, but at last he saw their familiar clearing, and the house sitting in the middle of it.

And the police car parked out in front, sirens blaring.


	6. Stanley "Kubrick" Pines (ba-dum ting!)

“...Oh dear.”

Hearing Ford say that was enough to get Stan’s attention; he also registered the uncomfortably familiar sound of sirens down below, and, when he peered over the side of the bicycle, the equally familiar blue and red lights flashing below them.

“You holding up all right?” Ford asked, giving his wrist a brief squeeze. “I think we’re going to have to come up with some kind of brilliant explanation very quickly, and you’re the one who’s most qualified for the job.”

“Flattery’ll get you nowhere,” Stan muttered, as the bike began flying downwards. Then, with a burst of inspiration, he asked, “You think they’ve seen us yet?”

Ford peered downwards, and finally said, “It’s just the deputy...he’s barely getting out of the car...and walking up onto the porch...so probably not.”

“Steer around and see if you can land us behind the house. I got an idea.”

Stan didn’t love how quickly they came in for a landing, but he knew it was necessary. He just closed his eyes as tight as he could until he felt the bike come to a stop. When he opened them again, he saw that they were still hovering a foot off the ground, but it was close enough for him to land sprawled on the lawn, and start making a grass angel out of sheer unadulterated relief.

“Um, Stanley, do I need to remind you about-”

“Yeah yeah, I got this.” He jumped to his feet, and gave Ford a bemused stare. “You’re not landing.”

“It won’t go any lower; I’ve tried.” Ford leaned forward ineffectively; the bike continued to hover in place.

“Well, just-figure it out.” And Stan ran around to the front of the house, where the town’s dopey deputy was still standing and knocking.

“Sorry, I was out back, didn’t hear you!” He gave him his most disarming smile. “What can I do for you?”

Deputy Blubs’s eyebrows drew together over the tops of his dark glasses which he wore pretty much 24/7; he probably thought they made him look more intimidating, but they’d actually made it easy for Stan to swipe his wallet, take all the cash out of it, and put it back on three separate occasions, since they were a major hindrance to his night vision. “Which Pines boy are you?”

Since he was about their age, possibly even younger, Stan thought the question was kind of rich. But he just adjusted his shirt collar and said, “Only the best one there is!”

Blubs looked at him blankly.

Stan sighed, remembering that some things were wasted on the wrong people. “I’m Stan. So whaddya want?”

“We received a report of some unusual activity downtown from the pair o’ you-somethin’ about a…” Blubs flipped through his notes quickly, then looked up at Stan, “...‘bicycle being set on fire, and then flying.’ If this is true, that qualifies as a  _ major _ disturbance of the peace, not to mention breaking the laws of gravity, committing acts of reckless endangerment-”

“Ohhhh,” Stan interrupted, waving his hands. “Yeah, I get why everyone might’ve been a bit upset by our little project.”

“Your-wha- _ project _ ?” Blubs gave him a bewildered stare.

“Yeah! Look-” Stan leaned down ( _ way _ down; the chubby deputy was really freakin’ short) until he was looking him in the shades- “you think you can keep a secret?”

Blubs nodded, eyebrows raised and curious.

“My brother and I have been working on a movie in our spare time!”

“A movie?!” Blubs’s voice went up an octave with excitement.

“Yup.” Stan nodded, grinning his best huckster's grin. “It’s about, uh, a guy who sold his soul and who has ta be the devil’s bounty hunter now, so he rides around on a fiery bike catching criminals! We’re callin’ it... _ Phantom Biker _ !”

He had no idea where the idea was coming from; he just used whatever thoughts popped into his head and hoped they were the right ones.

Blubs let out an excited squealing noise that sounded like it would’ve been better coming from a thirteen-year-old girl, and covered his mouth with his hands.

“OhmygoshohmygoshohmyGOSH! A real movie! Bein’ filmed in our own town!!!!” After a second his hands lowered a little, and he visibly tried to calm himself. “...So you’re tellin’ me that was all just special effects or somethin’?”

“Yup.” Stan folded his arms and grinned. “We’ve got a great special effects budget, so if people in town see anything weird involving flying or flaming bikes, that’s all it is.”

For the rest of the conversation, Blubs was like putty in Stan’s hands. He spun the lie into a full-fledged web about things going maybe a little out of control during this last “shoot,” and how they would be more careful next time with where and when they “filmed,” so they wouldn’t risk hitting or setting anyone on fire. He also warned Blubs that it was just an amateur film, and still in development hell, so it might not be coming out for a long, long time. Eventually the deputy left with a smile on his face, looking around for the hidden cameraman who Stan had hinted might be filming, on the lookout for anyone in town who might be star quality.

Since Stan had told him not to tell anyone about the “movie,” he was pretty sure that by tonight probably everyone in town would know about it, but at least they were unlikely to get anymore trouble from the cops.

He decided to go check on Ford.

* * *

His twin was next to the bike, which was lying on its side on the ground, with its wheels drenched in white foam. Ford was holding the fire extinguisher in his hands.

“Apparently the way to get it back on the ground is to put out the fire,” Ford said when he saw Stan.

“Huh.” He went over and grabbed the hose, using it to spray off the excess foam. “I told Blubs that we’re making a movie with very good special effects.”

Had this been the Ford from their late teenage years, or from last year when they were just barely reconnecting and getting to know each other all over again, he would probably have started squawking about what this would do to his reputation (as if his reputation as that reclusive scientist living in the woods wouldn’t be improved by the suggestion that he actually had some kind of hobbies or personality). Now, though, he gave a little resigned sigh and shook his head, with just a hint of a smile.

“We’re probably going to have people coming around and asking us for walk-on roles.”

“Yeah, probably.” Stan snickered as he turned off the hose.

Once the bike had dried off, they brought it in through the kitchen and, for the time being, set it up next to the entrance to the basement.

“This is going to require extensive experimentation,” Ford said, looking down at the wheels with bright eyes. “Are its powers triggered by any kind of flammable liquid, or does it specifically have to be gasoline? I’ve never heard of magic that can do any of that-could it be applied to other items?”

Stan shrugged. “As long as ya don’t do it to my car, I’m fine.” As cool as the idea of his lady being able to fly was...no. Just no.

Ford let out a sigh of exaggerated disappointment. “Killjoy.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Knucklehead.”

As Ford hurried down to the basement to grab what supplies he needed to start running his tests, Stan decided that now was probably not a good day to ask if he was ever going to be kicked out. Not after he’d nearly fallen to his death because he was panicking like an idiot, which meant that Ford had to stop something he was really excited over just to accommodate him.

It could wait.

Preferably forever, but he doubted Janet would let him get away with that.

* * *

(The signal had stopped. He wasn’t pleased about this. But he knew the right direction now; he wouldn’t let him get away again.

There was going to be hell to pay.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys get the chapter name, right?  
> Y'see, it's-it's funny, because Stan's pretending to be a film director, and Stanley Kubrick's a famous film director, and-  
> And-
> 
> ...I'm just gonna be over here.


	7. Ford gets some answers that just create more questions (situation normal)

It was many hours later before Ford decided to take a break from his experiments. During that time he had learned many things:

  1. You could use other flammable substances such as oil, lighter fluid or alcohol to start up the bicycle’s powers.
  2. If you did so, it was wisest to be A) on the bike, B) charging up both wheels at once, and C) not indoors at the time.
  3. Not complying with the above criteria could result in having a trail of scorch marks on your floor, holes smashed through the walls, and other examples of extreme structural damage. These, in turn, resulted in approximately twenty straight minutes of being chased through the house and swatted upside the head with a rolled-up newspaper by an irate twin brother.
  4. The reason behind this bicycle having such abilities appeared to be, as discovered with the use of a blacklight, a series of runes emblazoned on the wheels that showed up in an unusual shade of red when he shone it on them. They were not any kind he was familiar with the creatures around here using, but he decided to ask around and see if any of them, or any tourists, were familiar with them.
  5. There also appeared to be a pair of handprints on the handlebars, which again only showed up under the blacklight, and were the same strange red color. They did not match either his or Stan’s hands; the fingers were much thinner, and were the normal amount.
  6. The bike seemed oddly averse, if you could say that an inanimate object possessed such emotions, to coming into contact with iron, and while it was okay being sprayed with the hose it refused to float less than ten feet in proximity of running water, which produced a few interesting theories about its origins…



* * *

Ford only stopped when he realized that the reason why he was having trouble writing was that his head had slumped forward so far his nose was brushing against his journal. He quickly read through what he’d written to make sure it was coherent, and then closed the book, leaving it and his pen right next to the bike for when he woke up. He stepped out into the living room-and immediately tripped over the vacuum cleaner, which was parked right in front of the doorway.

As Ford regained his balance, along with his glasses, he saw an exhausted-looking Stan, with a dusty rag draped over one shoulder and smudges on his hands, clutching an armful of papers and his collection of venom samples (from gremloblin to manticelf) which were apparently almost all that was left of the mess that had been the result of two young men using in the same area for an extended length of time.

And he remembered that before the arrival of the bicycle, he had fully intended to clean up his share of the mess, but it appeared that Stan had been doing the job for him while he was-

He groaned, and smacked his forehead.

“ _Shoot_ , Stanley, I’m sorry! Why didn’t you come and remind me?”

Stan shrugged. “You were busy lookin’ over the bike.”

“Yes, but that could’ve waited!” Ford came and took his things from Stan. “I’ll take care of these. You need to go to bed, and we can work on straightening up everything else in the morning.” ...Which would have to include getting a work crew from Dan’s manotaurs to put in some emergency repairs to the areas of the house he had inadvertently destroyed.

“You need ta sleep too,” Stan muttered through a resigned yawn.

“I will, after I put these away. Now shoo.”

Normally Stan wouldn’t hesitate to bite his head off for spending too much time neglecting his chores, Ford mused as he put the venom samples on a shelf that was out of reach of a five-year-old boy’s inquisitive hands (he was planning to keep the entrance to the basement locked, but Xander was enough like both him and Stan that it was highly possible he would find some way to get down here during his visit), and the papers in a locked drawer of his desk. Especially if he was blowing them off because he was looking at some strange new anomaly that could wait for another time. He couldn’t help thinking that his twin’s unusually submissive behavior had something to do with how quiet he’d been earlier.

...Or, going out on a limb here, maybe it had to do with his panic attack when they were flying, and Ford being forced to end the little trip early as a result.

Ford went even further out on the limb and wondered if Stan’s trying to handle all the cleanup in preparation for their family’s arrival by himself was related to both issues. It made sense; even though he hadn’t done much to openly acknowledge it, he had noticed that his brother tried much harder than he used to to give him space and time to do his research uninterrupted, only involving himself if Ford directly asked him if he wanted to help.

He wasn’t sure where Stan’s pensiveness fit into the equation, but he did suspect they were connected.

Usually it was best to get Stan to talk about his problems as soon as possible, because otherwise he tended to let them stew, and that was no good. But at the same time, he wasn’t sure if now was the best time, when they’d have company coming and Stan most likely wouldn’t want to talk about emotionally heavy stuff during their birthday; and besides, one of the things they’d talked about with Janet during group therapy was respect of each other’s privacy. Then again, what if this was an occasion where Stan needed to talk about it with him and also needed a little push to get him to open up because otherwise he’d be too scared to come forward on his own?

Ugh, emotions were frustrating to deal with-both his and other people’s.

Ford decided that maybe it would be easier to come up with an answer after he’d gotten some rest.

* * *

He went around to all the doors and windows, making sure they were securely fastened and had sufficient protection spells lining them (Paranoid? Yes. Necessary? Also yes.) before heading up to bed. As he finished checking the security measures on the back door, however, Ford stopped short and tilted his head.

Maybe it was his imagination, but just for a second, off in the trees somewhere, he heard a noise that was strange even by Gravity Falls standards.

It had sounded almost like the high, chilling call of a hunting horn.

_...Maybe Northwest has started fox hunting in the dead of night for some bizarre reason?_

_...Not impossible, but unlikely._

He stood there for a few minutes, waiting to see if the noise would repeat itself.

At last, though, he just turned and headed for the stairs.

If it was some kind of new residents to the forest, they would probably find out soon enough, since the creatures around here gossiped like the proverbial washerwomen. He’d wonder about them in the morning, in between getting ready for Shermie’s family and worrying about Stan.

Right now, he needed slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Darn it, Ford; you had a moment of epiphany, and you lost it. At least the bonehead realizes for once that sleep is important, right?
> 
> Also, considering how many times parts of the house got destroyed in the original show, it seemed only natural for it to be a common occurrence in this universe too. Especially since these knuckleheads are living there together.


	8. Hail, hail, the gang's (almost) all here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goal is to hopefully get this story finished by or on June 15, since that's these knuckleheads' birthday and all. Fingers crossed.

For the first time in ages, Stan had a good dream.

Not a bad dream, not a blank, dreamless sleep, not one of those indistinct surreal dreams that he could barely remember when he woke up. A real, honest-to-goodness good dream.

He and Ford were on the  _ Stan O’War _ -not the old shipwrecked version that they’d originally discovered (and which he’d burned to the ground the night he was kicked out), but a fully repaired  _ beauty _ of a sailboat that cut through the waves like a spoon through soft serve ice cream, and had a magnificent skull and crossbones flag fluttering in the wind.

Occasional sea monsters showed up and tried to attack them-a kraken, a sea serpent, a giant two-tongued frog, some kind of large, hairless gopher-and the boys defeated them all, before sailing further off into the sunset in search of new adventures.

Stan was still grinning over getting to punch that dumb frog in the face when he woke up-and gave a small sigh of disappointment when he fully registered that it hadn’t been real.

_ Oh well. Gotta get started preparing for when Shermie’s crew gets here. _

* * *

When he got up and started getting dressed, he groaned at how stiff his arms felt-it had to be from holding on to Ford so tightly and for so long yesterday during the bike ride.

_ Oh shoot-he’s gotta be pretty sore all over from doing all that pedaling. And knowing the knucklehead, he didn’t do anything for it. _

He went looking for his twin-and sure enough, he was up in the attic sweeping, and he was moving a little like a robot.

Stan nipped down to the basement, grabbing a jar of healing salve he’d acquired from the Unseelie Court, and returned to the attic with it.

Ford let out a startled, indignant noise when the broom was snatched from his hands and the jar set in its place, but Stan just said firmly, “This can wait till you’ve put some of that on.”

Ford looked at him like he was about to start protesting, but then he just gave a resigned sigh and stalked off downstairs.

When he came back up, looking far less stiff, they got to work cleaning, setting up an air mattress for Shermie and Rebecca and a smaller one for Xander, and hanging dreamcatchers in all four corners just in case.

“What would you think about Fiddleford and I designing a robot to do all our chores for us?” Ford asked as they finished. He had spiderwebs stuck in his curls thanks to his crawling under the desk that was set up in one corner, and Stan was still debating whether or not to tell him. Downstairs they could hear the manotaurs (and Dan) at work repairing the damage done by the bike.

“Eh, I dunno if Mom would like that,” he said, giving the pillows on the air mattress they’d set up an extra fluff. “You know what she says: ‘It’s good for you to do housework, Stanford! It builds character!’”

“I wouldn’t tell her if you wouldn’t. Besides, there are far better ways to build character than by meaningless drudgery.” Ford clapped some dust from his hands, and then sneezed.

“Didn’t the last robot you guys built go rogue and try ta blow up the school? I mean, as cool as that would be, I like bein’ able ta live in this house.” Which, of course, reminded him of that thing he didn’t want to talk about with Ford; he absorbed himself in smoothing down an already perfectly spotless corner of the blankets.

“We’d be more careful this time. A good first step would probably be not including a rocket launcher in the design plans.”

Stan guffawed, his good humor returning. “You guys needa create your own mad scientist’s club or something. No, on second thought, you’d probably go mad with power and try ta destroy the world, so don’t do that. Bad idea.”

“We would  _ not _ try to destroy it!” Ford said indignantly. “We’d just decide to overthrow all its governments via a robot army and rebuild a better, more united, worldwide democratic society.”

Stan scoffed. “I think it’d be better ta just go with flat-out anarchy. That’s basically humanity’s natural state.”

Ford was opening his mouth, probably to scold Stan for his cynicism or remind him that a lack of order could also result in a lack of a proper monetary system, when they heard the sound of a horn honking, and a car pulling up in their driveway.

They raced each other to the stairs, Stan winning by taking advantage of his slightly wider shoulders.

* * *

When they made it outside, it was just in time for Stan to be nearly knocked to the ground by a five-year-old juggernaut.

“Whoa!” He barely caught Xander in time, and scooped him up into his arms. “Hey, ya little gremlin!”

“Hi Uncle Stan when do we get to see the gnomes I wanna catch one!”

Stan doubted the queen would allow that, especially since she might be still mad at him for that little incident with the trolls, but he bet it would be possible for his nephew to at least get to  _ see _ the gnomes (from a safe distance, just in case). For now, though, all he said was, “We’ll talk about that later, okay?” and then set Xander on his shoulders so he could say hello to his brother and sister-in-law.

After various greetings were exchanged, the little group headed inside.

“So,” Rebecca asked, reaching over to pull some of the cobwebs out of Ford’s hair, “when do we get to see some of those strange creatures that you claim live around here? The way you’ve talked about this place I was expecting to see the yard overrun with fairies or-eek!”

She jumped back with an alarmed squeak at the sight of an enormous, broad-shouldered figure with strange growths coming out of the top of its head looming in the doorway leading to the rest of the house...and then Dan stepped into the light and took off the thick headphones he was wearing to protect his ears.

“We’re almost done patching up the holes in the walls, but we’re gonna need another twenty minutes, so if you wanna get into the kitchen you’re gonna have to go around.” He looked over and waved. “Hey, you must be Stan and Ford’s family. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, that’s us.” Shermie smiled-and then blinked. “Wait- _ holes _ in the walls? What the heck-”

“It was an accident from one of my experiments,” Ford said.

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“That’s the same attitude I usually haveta take when dealing with them,” Dan said dryly. “Helps me keep what’s left of my sanity.”

One of the manotaurs suddenly stuck his head through the doorway.

“Boss, Mascular and Muscular are fighting again; do ya want me to knock their heads together?”

Dan groaned. “No, hold on, I’ll come take care of it.” He gave them an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I got some idiots ta straighten out.” And he and the other manotaur left...leaving Shermie and Rebecca staring after them, slack-jawed.

“...That’s a manotaur,” Stan said at last. “They’re like minotaurs but with more toxic masculinity.”

Xander wrinkled his nose. “They’re even hairier than Daddy.”

That lightened the mood enough for all of them to laugh.

Of course, then they wanted to go get another look at the manotaurs from around the corner of the hallway.

Stan had to admit that Dan had done a great job of teaching the pack (Herd? He wasn’t sure what the right term for a group of them was) about order and discipline ever since taking control; they barely wasted any time at all punching each other, and seemed to be pretty focused on measuring, cutting and hammering.

“So you really see things like that all the time around here?” Shermie asked as he watched Bulbataur smash a board over his head and fit the newly shortened one into place. His eyes had become bright with excitement in a way that made him look an awful lot like Ford.

“Not every day, no,” Ford said. “Sometimes we need to go out and look for them. But very often.”

“And your friend is in  _ charge  _ of them?” Rebecca asked. “How did that happen?”

Somehow, ‘Because he saved us from bein’ tortured to death by some smoky pain-eating monsters’ felt like the wrong answer, and not just because it would end up creating even more questions. Stan went with, “He earned their respect in a manliness contest.”

“Wow. That must’ve been some manliness contest.”

“You have no idea.”

Stan and Ford ended up having to be the ones to take their luggage upstairs and put it by the air mattress, because Shermie and his family were too transfixed by watching the manotaurs work.

Stan had to remind himself that they weren’t used to seeing supernatural stuff every day like he and his twin were.

“If they’re like this with the manotaurs, wait until they see some of the  _ really _ cool stuff,” he said as they headed back down the hall.

“What do you think we should show them first?” Ford asked. “The unicorns? Or-no, the fairies, Rebecca was really excited about getting to see them-”

“How about we wait for McG and his family ta get here first so we can show alla them stuff together?”

“Good call.”

They came down to find that the last of the repairs had been finished, and the group had gone out onto the front porch, where one of the manotaurs was giving Xander a piggyback ride; the boy was shrieking with excitement and keeping his little fists entwined in the bull man’s back hair to keep his balance. Rebecca was looking a little anxious as she watched, but Stan could tell the manotaur was being careful as he trotted back and forth. Shermie and Dan were next to her, absorbed in conversation that Stan could hear better as they got closer.

“...Yeah, they’re a pretty good work crew as long as you keep ‘em in line,” Dan was saying. “Not sure I trust ‘em with axes, but they’re great at heavy lifting.”

“Your job is way more interesting than mine,” Shermie admitted with a laugh. He beamed when he saw his brothers, and moved over so they could join them.

“So,” he said when they did so, “Dan tells me that you discovered some kind of flying bicycle that was responsible for all that mess inside?”

“We didn’t exactly discover it,” Ford admitted. “Someone sent it to us in a package.”

Dan glanced at them sharply. “What?”

_ Oops. _


	9. Various Pines babysitters meet and exchange grievances

“We checked ta make sure it wasn’t something that’d hurt us first,” Stan said quickly. “Sixer used a charm on it, and it’s not any kinda black magic.”

The lumberjack was only somewhat mollified. “Do you know who it was from?”

“...No. It didn’t have a return address or anything.”

“So you think it was okay to just open a strange package when you don’t even know what’s inside?!” He threw up his hands, putting a couple of dents in the porch roof. “Geez, if I ever wanna murder you two I know the perfect method: just send you a bomb in the mail and wait ta hear the explosion!”

“Hey, it’s not like  _ every _ weird thing that happens to us is because something’s tryna kill us!” Stan argued before Ford could shush him. He visibly realized his mistake too late.

“Has someone else tried to kill you since Christmas?” Shermie asked, giving them a worried look.

“Someone tried to kill you during Christmas?!” Dan squawked.

The twins both groaned.

...This was going to take some explaining.

* * *

“...So to make a long story short, we dropped the baby off at the police station, and Xander got a puppy for Christmas,” Stan finished about twenty minutes later. He glanced at Shermie. “How’s he doing anyway?”

“He’s good. We left him at a kennel while we’re gone.”

Dan groaned into his hands. “It’s like you guys are danger magnets or something.”

“Yeah, I guess we are.” Stan shrugged.

Dan lifted his head and glared at both him and Ford. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for taking the magic bicycle you found delivered ta you under mysterious circumstances for a joyride.”

“We wanted to find out what it did, and it seemed like the fastest way of doing so!” Ford argued.

“Dan has a point, Stanford,” Shermie pointed out. “That was kind of risky.”

Both his younger brothers gave him wounded glares. “Whose side are you on?”

“The side of pure common sense, something neither of you seem to possess.”

Dan grinned, and offered him a high five, which he accepted with a smile that quickly turned into a grimace because the lumberjack high fived pretty hard.

Stan’s glare deepened in annoyance. “You’re dead to me, Shermie.”

“Be that as it may, as the oldest one here I feel like I oughta make a decree that at least while we’re all here, if you guys find anymore mysterious magical items, you don’t experiment with them, you don’t touch them, you don’t do  _ anything _ with them-”

Stan and Ford exploded with protests about this not being his decision to make, and how studying anomalies was Ford’s  _ job _ , he had no right to tell them what they could or couldn’t touch-

Shermie held up his hand for silence, and waited until they complied. Then he continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “-UNLESS you’ve studied them  _ thoroughly _ and made sure you know where they’ve come from and what they’re to be used for as much as you possibly can. And no getting Xander involved unless you’re sure it’s safe for him-and yes, I mean by my and Rebecca’s standards of safety, not yours, Ford.”

Ford closed his mouth sheepishly.

“Does that seem fair?” Shermie folded his arms, looking like a somewhat less stern version of their father.

Ford looked at Stan, who pursed his lips in a frown. He knew what his twin was thinking-it annoyed the heck out of both of them to have their brother putting restrictions on their work...but at the same time he had a perfectly good right to want to keep his son safe, and he and Dan both had good points about their needing to be a little more cautious about things like mysterious packages.

They turned back to Shermie, and Ford brought it upon himself to be their spokesman: “That’s fair.”

“Good.” He shook a finger at them both. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Me too,” said Rebecca, giving them the kind of stern look only a mother was capable of.

At which point the most unusual car any of them had ever seen came driving up the road.

* * *

It looked like-and probably was-several different types of cars that had been taken apart, and had all the parts that the mechanic liked put together to create a disproportionate Frankenstein’s monster of a car.

In fact, Ford realized as it came closer, the description “monster” was more than a little appropriate, because the front of the car had been designed to look like it had an enormous set of fangs, and the wheels actually had covers on the tops that resembled giant claws.

There was only one person he knew who would drive such a contraption, and he was even now bringing the car to a stop, before stepping out on the driver’s side, adjusting his tiny round glasses.

“Fiddleford!” Ford called, jumping off the porch and jogging towards his friend with a smile. He stopped in his tracks, however, when Fiddleford’s face contorted into an expression of absolute terror, and he threw up his hands in front of him, waving them urgently.

“Sssssh!!!!”

Ford froze, looking over his shoulder in alarm.

Had the gremloblin come back?! He could have sworn Stan had paid him enough glittery stickers that he’d stay away from their cabin for the next few months-

No sign of him, or any of the more threatening residents of the forest. Just Stanley and the others on the porch, looking equally confused.

He turned back to Fiddleford, who he suddenly realized was not just panicked, but looking kind of...exhausted. His already unruly hair was sticking up in big fluffy tufts, and his eyes were ringed by deep shadows like it was finals week.

Fiddleford edged around the car and stepped towards him.

“Sorry, Stanford,” he hissed in an urgent whisper, “but Emma-May just got Tate ta fall back asleep for the first time since early this mornin’, and no matter how much of a good friend ya are if you wake him up and make him start cryin’ again I will  _ not _ be responsible for my actions!”

Ford winced, and took a step back.

“Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice as much as possible without becoming a complete whisper.

Fiddleford nodded his approval, and offered his hand. “It’s good ta see you again, Ford.”

Then, to his horror, Ford saw the manotaur who was giving Xander a piggyback ride-what was his name, Chutzpar Senior or something?-marching around the side of the house, still with the boy on his shoulders, and they were both  _ very loudly _ talking and giggling about something.

He whirled around towards the others.

“Stop them!” he whisper-yelled. “They have a sleeping baby!”

To his shock, it was Rebecca who moved first; leaping off the porch, she ran right into Chutzpar’s path, blocking him from coming any closer to the front yard. He barely came to a halt in time to avoid trampling her, and started to demand what the big idea was, but she actually reached up and  _ clamped her hand around his muzzle _ .

Ford was barely able to make out her voice saying in the firmest tone ever, “Listen to me, Mr. Manotaur. There are two people over here with a baby that they are trying to keep asleep, so you need to either be quiet, or stay in the backyard until one of us lets you know that it’s safe. Have you got that?”

Chutzpar, looking more terrified than any manotaur Ford had ever seen before, nodded frantically. She moved her hand, and judging from her posture gave her son a stern look.

“That goes for you too, Xander. You need to be quiet right now, okay?”

The little boy nodded and clamped his hands over his mouth.

“Good boy.” She reached as high as she could, and patted his arm. “Now go play.”

The apparent new best friends sheepishly turned and went back around the side of the house.

“Thank you,” Fiddleford said with a sigh when Rebecca approached.

“It was no problem,” she reassured him, “Trust me, I know what you two are going through right now.”

She peered into the back window of the car, through which Ford could see an equally-exhausted Emma-May next to one of those baby seats that had to face backwards.

“Oh man...I think all of you need to come inside and get some rest.”

Emma-May looked up at her. “As much as I appreciate the offer...I’m afraid to move him right now.”

Rebecca winced sympathetically. “Well, do you need someone to maybe keep you company?”

She nodded a little, giving Ford a tired smile and wave. “Hello, Stanford. I’ll give you and everyone else a proper greeting later, okay?”

He nodded, and led Fiddleford towards the house; behind him he could hear the soft  _ click _ of a car door opening, followed by his sister-in-law’s soft cooing over the baby and how ‘precious’ he was.

_ I will never understand how people can be so simultaneously frustrated and adoring towards infants. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me, you never want to mess with parents of a baby who it's a chore to get to sleep. They will threaten to kill you if you wake him or her up.


	10. Matilda becomes a bit of an adrenaline junkie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone so long (insert somewhat ironic laughter, since it's only been a couple of days since I last posted). I kind of needed a little bit to recharge and think about where I want this story to go. But I'm BACK, baby, and hopefully better than ever.

The little group, minus Rebecca and Emma-May, went inside and made themselves comfortable in the living room. And almost as soon as he sat down, Fiddleford fell asleep in his chair.

No, I’m really not exaggerating; barely a minute had passed before he was snoring softly, head at a funny angle against the chair back and looking dead to the world. None of the men had the heart to wake him, so Stan just grabbed a couch cushion and tucked it under his head. Fiddleford muttered something about hogs, and then settled back into the depths of slumber.

“So,” Shermie said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “what kind of adventures were you guys planning for us during our stay here?”

Stan shrugged. “Eh, we were kinda waitin’ for you ta get here so we could ask if there was anything in particular you wanna see or do.”

“I have a few possibilities.” Ford produced the map he’d created of Gravity Falls and all its unusual areas, from the UFO-shaped cliffs to the lake where the Gobblewonker lurked. “It’s not my best work; I didn’t have time to make sure it was exactly to scale or paint it.”

Shermie looked at the beautifully drawn, intricately detailed map that could have passed for something out of J.R.R. Tolkein’s books. “...Nice job.”

“Is there at least anything in particular you want to do on Thursday?” Shermie asked as he examined the map. “Since that’s you guys’s birthday and all?”

Now was a good time for Stan to at least speak up about this. “I was thinkin’ we could go on a hike up to the cliffs. There’s some pretty cool stuff up there.”

_ Including something Ford is really gonna like. _

“And we should also save the lake for that day,” Ford added in a hurried tone. “To cool down after the hike.”

He and Stan gave each other very similar looks. They were looks that said,  _ I know that you know that I decided on that place for a very specific reason, but I’m not telling why that is. _

Dan leaned over to Shermie. “I’m not the only one who thinks it’s creepy when they do that, right?”

“It was even creepier when they were babies,” Shermie told him. “They couldn’t even talk yet, and you’d feel like they were having an entire conversation about you right in front of you.”

Dan shivered. “Eesh. You’re right, that does sound worse.”

Stan rolled his eyes at both of them as he looked back at the map. “If Rebecca wants ta visit the fairies, it’s probably better ta go during the day. And there’s a whole lotta rules ta go over about what you can and can’t do if you wanna leave in one piece.”

“Pretty sure she’ll be okay with it. She has seriously been obsessing over this for weeks, rereading all her books and doing research on all the different fairy myths.” Shermie smiled fondly. “Reminds me of this time we went to the Renaissance Fair.”

About twenty minutes later, after they’d picked out some potential places which were safe to show off and gotten started on an itinerary, Stan picked up the sounds of women talking and laughing as they approached the house, and then Rebecca and Emma-May came in, with Xander in tow. Emma-May was also carrying a chubby, awake bundle in one arm, and looking a little better.

She made a sympathetic noise when she saw Fiddleford, and passed the baby to Rebecca before going over and lightly kissing his forehead.

Seconds later his eyes flew open, and he lurched upright, knocking his glasses askew. “I’m awake! Where’s-!”

“It’s all right, hun,” she crooned, smoothing back his hair, “Tate had a quick nap and we got him right here, safe and sound. And it looks like you got a bit of a nap too.”

Fiddleford groaned and rubbed his eyes, setting his glasses back in place. “Sorry, I shoulda-”

“It’s  _ okay _ ,” she insisted; her hand moved to cup his cheek.

They smiled at each other in a gooey way that people who were happily married always seemed to do; therefore, not in a way that Stan had ever seen his parents smile at each other. But maybe that was just because his father wasn’t big on smiling…

He shook his head at himself and refocused on the conversation.

* * *

The rest of the day was comparatively uneventful. The group talked and got to know each other, passing baby Tate around while Xander entertained himself with some of his toys.

Shermie was very interested in learning about the tours and the trade system Stan had set up between all the different factions (“because everyone’s got somethin’ that someone else’ll buy”), and offered to help out at the gift shop during his stay. Once he was feeling more awake, Fiddleford talked to Ford about his work with computers, and whether a robot that could do chores was mathematically feasible (Fiddleford reckoned it was, but thought it might need some parts that he didn’t have readily available).

And then, towards evening, there was a knock at the door and Matilda let herself in. When she saw the crowd of people filling the living room, she startled.

“Whoa! That is- _ way _ more people here than I am used to.”

“Hey Matt.” Dan beamed at her. She smiled back, and went over to his side, giving Ford a friendly punch in the arm as she passed him.

“So, word on the street is you guys are making a movie about a flying bike.”

Stan grimaced guiltily. “Uh...about that.”

Of course, once he told her about the bike and how it worked, the first thing out of Matilda’s mouth was, “Can I try it?”

“Matt!” Dan protested.

“What? They explained how it works, and it sounds  _ incredibly _ cool.” She went into the room where it was being kept, and wheeled it out. She looked at the boys with big, pleading eyes. “ _ Please _ ? I won’t go far, I just wanna take it for a quick ride.”

Stan glanced at Ford. After his twin gave a nod of confirmation, he looked back at her. “You gotta take it outside. And make sure it’s not pointed at the house-”

“WHOO-HOOOO!” Matilda was already wheeling it out the front door, whooping. The group followed her outside, Stan taking a second to grab the bottle of expired apple cider from the kitchen.

Dan looked less than pleased...but he had also apparently learned by this point that sometimes, rather than flat-out trying to forbid people from doing something, it was better to just stand by and wait to step in until something terrible happened.

“So, I just need to pour this on the wheels, and that’ll start it up?” Matilda asked as she climbed onto the bike and took the bottle from Stan.

“Uh-yeah, but you might wanna-”

She had already splashed it onto the wheels, meaning that seconds later Stan had to leap to the side to avoid getting a literal hotfoot.

The bike surged right up the side of the nearest tree and into the air, leaving behind a long trail of flames and an utterly gobsmacked audience.

“...No matter how many times I see stuff like this, I still have trouble believing it,” Shermie gasped, awestruck.

“Don’t touch that!” Rebecca pulled her son back before he could touch the flames.

“Can I ride next?” he asked eagerly.

“NO.”

Xander pouted. “You never let me do anything.”

“WHOOOOOO!” Matilda yelled jubilantly, turning the bike and pedaling so it did a circle in the air that left another flaming trail. “I AM THE MASTER OF THE SKIES!!!! COWER BEFORE ME, BRIEF MORTALS!!!!”

“...I’m scared,” Fiddleford murmured. He and Emma-May giggled.

Matilda tilted the bike up and down, doing wild swoops that almost touched the ground before climbing up above the trees, like she was on the world’s craziest roller coaster.

“Can this thing do loops?!” she called, coming back down until she was dangerously close to setting the roof on fire.

“I haven’t tried it!” Ford called back-and then, after a hard elbow from both Stanley and Dan, added, “And you probably shouldn’t either!”

“Oh come on, where’s you guys’s sense of excitement?” she challenged, grinning.

“If you kill yourself on that thing you can’t go to the movies with me on Friday!” Dan retorted.

Matilda grumbled, but she finally came in for a landing.

“Whoa, that was  _ awesome _ !” She pumped her fists in the air and did a little spin, before collapsing against her boyfriend. “If you guys decide you don’t want this thing after all, can I have it?”

Then, to Stan’s surprise, of all people  _ Fiddleford _ was the one to ask, “...Can I have a go?”

Dan made a disgusted noise. “You guys are all nuts.”

Stan privately agreed.

* * *

(Standing in the trees at the edge of the clearing, he watched with dark satisfaction as the skinny one climbed onto the bicycle.

He had found it at last. Now he just needed to wait. Sooner or later the thief would be alone, and then...vengeance would be served.)


	11. The boys are caught red-handed (or are they?)

Morning came bright and sunny, after an evening spent having fun with the bike (though none of them were quite as adventurous as Matilda had been). Rebecca and Stan put together breakfast, and since Ford was up at about the same time he helped set the table.

“How’d ya sleep?” Stan asked him while he finished scrambling meat.

“Pretty good. You?”

“Had a weird dream about two lab mice who wanted ta take over the world.”

Rebecca snorted. “I told you not to eat all those marshmallows before bed.”

“They were there to be eaten! It’s their sole purpose in life!”

The playful arguing continued as they brought food over to the table and waited for Shermie and Xander to come down.

It was all oddly...perfect, Ford thought. This scene, right here; the best word he could think of to describe it was perfect.

He’d thought, when he first came to Gravity Falls and he spent all his time alone in this giant house, chasing after anomalies, that that was perfection. And to be honest, he still liked having at least some time to himself once in a while, because being around too many people for long stretches of time was emotionally draining. But-and this was a very radical thought that he didn’t always consciously realize, but kept cropping up during occasions like this-that kind of lifestyle hadn’t necessarily been  _ better _ .

He was pretty sure there was a correlation between his rediscovered enjoyment of time spent with family and friends, and his decrease in obsession over the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness; most likely the former filling up the hole created by the latter. He’d have to discuss this theory with Janet during their next session.

Right now, though, he had to play ref when Stan mischievously sprinkled powdered sugar in Rebecca’s hair, and she retaliated by smacking him with the spatula, resulting in a small skirmish that was in serious danger of upsetting the plate of waffles.

It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that the impending trouble you’ve all been waiting for occurred.

Most of the morning had been spent in the gift shop and the surrounding area, showing off this incredible place they lived in, before coming back to the house for lunch. Ford and Rebecca were in the kitchen talking about the kind of groceries they wanted to get everyone for the week, when Stan, dressed in his suit and fez, stuck his head into the kitchen.

“We got a lotta tourists at three o’clock, Poindexter!”

Ford glanced at his watch.

“I mean in the sense that they’re heading towards the clearing  _ right now _ , genius. Got a message from the gnomes.” He held up Shmebulock Senior, who indeed had a roll of paper tied around his neck that read, ‘Large group of tourists approaching-hurry!’

Rebecca blinked and put her hand on her hip. “Huh. They look just like the lawn statues.”

Both men were too busy rushing to the golf carts to answer her.

* * *

The clearing indeed contained an unusual assemblage of tourists, who Ford suspected had come as a group. For one thing, all of them were wearing some kind of black leather, often with spikes on the shoulders or chain decorations, and they all carried weapons of some kind: switchblades, lead pipes, broadswords, spears-one of them even had a chainsaw hoisted over his shoulder. Four of them appeared to be dark elves of some kind (the long pointy ears, grayish skin tones and arrogant postures were kind of a dead giveaway), but there was also a skeleton in a hoodie, and a gray, long-clawed demon, and a couple of figures who looked surprisingly human, except for their unnatural paleness. Ford hoped he wouldn’t have to take the latter on his tour, as they reminded him uncomfortably of the black doves. All of them gave him kind of an uncomfortable feeling in his gut; something about this group felt even more...unearthly than usual.

Stan looked as unnerved by their guests as he was, but he put on his wide grin and went into his typical spiel as he climbed out of the cart. “Welcome, gentlemonsters, to a world of electricity and modern plumbing, the likes of which your kind has probably never seen before! We’re your hosts, the Mystery Twins, here ta show you-Hey! What the [ **CENS** ]-”

Neither of them had time to react. Out of nowhere they were swarmed and dragged from the carts; Ford’s arms were wrenched behind his back and tied with what felt like a strand of wire, and a foul-smelling bag was shoved over his head. Then he was being slung over a meaty shoulder just like a sack of potatoes.

He could hear sounds of scuffle for a few more seconds, which was only to be expected from Stan, before a silence he hoped just meant that his twin was receiving the same treatment as himself, and not that he’d been seriously hurt or-

“Let’s move!” a gruff voice hollered, and seconds later Ford was being jolted up and down as the person carrying him took off running.

They only ran for a few minutes, before everything lurched to a stop. Ford was pulled off the shoulder, and dumped onto the ground, knocking the wind out of him. There was a thud next to him, and some familiar muffled cursing. Ford’s heart rate settled into a steadier rhythm at the reassurance that Stan was alive.

“We weren’t sure which was the one you wanted, so we brought both of them, my prince,” someone said above him.

**_“Very good,”_ ** another voice rumbled, sounding like the ultimate personification of darkness.  **_“Let me see their faces.”_ **

Ford was yanked upright, forcing him to kneel, and the bag was yanked away, knocking his glasses askew in the process. He was forced to squint in order to make out Stanley, who was kneeling next to him and looking a little bruised and bloody, but more or less okay. He gave Ford a weak smile.

“...Looks like we might be a little late gettin’ home tonight,” he murmured.

**_“SILENCE!”_ **

And Ford finally saw that standing right in front of them,  _ looming  _ over them, was a figure cloaked in shadows, so that he nearly blended into the trees, and with what appeared to be an enormous pair of antlers growing out of his head. He glared down at them with fiery red eyes.

**_“So, your little game of hide and seek has finally come to an end,”_ ** he hissed, stalking back and forth.  **_“I will admit, you led us on a merry chase.”_ ** Then, abruptly, he whirled and leaned in towards them, voice rising into a snarl.  **_“Did you really think that you could leave the Wild Hunt, steal from me, and_ ** **live** **_, Tamelene?!”_ **

There was a moment of silence.

And then Stan asked, in a voice laden with genuine confusion, “Sorry,  _ who _ ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm one of those weird people who likes waffles better than pancakes. Probably because I'm kind of a texture-based eater, and waffles often have more chewiness to them-crunchiness? Something between being crunchy and chewy. Maybe it depends on the quality of the waffle iron.
> 
> Oh, sorry, were you more interested in the ending of this chapter?  
> Sheesh, you people have weird priorities.


	12. Owain ap Gwyn, the mighty hunter

“The Wild Hunt?!” Ford gasped. “I didn’t know they ever came to America!”

“The original group doesn’t. We’re the American division,” said one of the elves proudly. He tried to roll up his sleeve, but realized pretty quickly that tight black leather isn’t meant to be rolled up; with an annoyed sigh he just wiggled his arm out of his jacket and thrust it into Ford’s and Stan’s faces. Just under his wrist was a tattooed picture of what looked like a group of black-clad monsters riding horseback, with a few hellhounds thrown into the mix, chasing after a tiny, but obviously terrified, human. Above them was a full moon with a big ‘A’ in the middle.

“Nice,” Stan complimented. As best he could remember from Ford reading about it once when they were kids, the Wild Hunt was this group of supernatural beings who rode around during All Souls Day or whatever terrorizing anyone who came into their path, or something like that. They sounded a lot like that biker gang he’d thought about joining up with.

 **_“DON’T THINK YOU CAN FOOL ME!”_ ** the antler guy roared abruptly, gnashing his teeth. **_“I know one of you is Tamelene!”_ **

“...That’s not one of your fake IDs?” Ford asked, giving Stan a searching look.

“Nope. The closest one I can think of is Lin-Manuel Pinos, and that was just for a weekend in New York-”

 **_“I have the evidence right here!!”_ ** Maybe it was his imagination, but the dark figure actually looked like he stamped his foot a little.

The skeleton stepped forward, producing the bike which it was becoming rapidly clear to Stan was the reason why they were in this whole mess. And the reason why it had come to them was becoming clearer to him by the second.

“Look, Rudolph-” he struggled to his feet despite his bound hands- “I think you got the wrong guys. We got this thing in the mail a few days ago, had no idea where it came from. So whoever Tamberlane-”

“Tamelene,” Ford corrected.

“-is, he’s played all of us for saps. He probably randomly picked our name out of an address book or somethin’, and mailed the bike to us so he could throw you off his trail.”

...Not that Stan had any personal knowledge about people getting rid of incriminating evidence by mailing it to someone else so they could more easily escape from other people who were hunting them down. Really.

The antler guy looked ready to start yelling again, but Stan just went on, “You can ask anyone you like around here-we’ve lived in this town together for ages, we’ve never been part of any demon biker gangs.” He glanced at Ford. “You haven’t been part of any demon biker gangs, right?”

“Of course not!”

Stan gave their captor a “there you go then” look. “Seriously, do ya not know what your own people look like?”

**_“Ah-well-”_ **

“Technically, Tamelene’s not part of our group,” said the gray demon.

**_“SHUT UP, TERENCE!”_ **

“Yeah,” said another elf, “he actually belongs to the original division, but Owain here was asked to track him down by his-”

 **_“I TOLD YOU TO CUT IT OUT!”_ ** And the antler guy stepped out of the shadows.

In the light, he was a little...less impressive.

For one thing, he was shorter than he’d appeared at first, and kind of weedy-looking. The strange appearance of his head was due to a weird helmet of some kind with antlers attached to it, and it had been made for someone with a bigger head, so it kept flopping down to the side. His attempt at a manly stride was undermined by his stepping on the edge of his long black cloak as it swept around his boots, and it was only by doing some fancy footwork that he was able to avoid face-planting in the dirt. To complete the picture, even though his eyes were still red and glowing, they were set in a pasty thin face that was peppered with acne scars and a scraggly brown attempt at a beard.

At his side was...what was probably a hellhound. After all, it had fur black as night, and glowing red eyes that matched its master’s, and every time it exhaled little flames flickered between its fangs. However, the terrifying nature of these traits was undermined by the fact that they were being manifested by a dachshund.

* * *

**A dachshund, for any who might not be familiar with the term, is one of those little floppy-eared dogs that looks kind of like a sausage with legs. They were originally bred in Germany for the purpose of hunting badgers, and from there became classic examples of adorable lapdogs. They were not bred to be ferocious hellhounds.**

* * *

Stan looked down at Ford. Both of them barely managed to hold in snickers, despite how serious the situation still was.

“Guys, come on!” the antler guy-Owain-pleaded with his henchmen. “We talked about this-you’re not supposed to mention my dad in front of captives! It makes me look bad!”

“Uh, you’re technically the one who just brought him up, not us,” the elf retorted.

“You were _going_ to-!” Then his ears turned red, and he glanced at the boys. At last he groaned into his hand. “Uggghhhh.”

The hell dachshund snapped at a passing butterfly, and when it got out of reach, incinerated it with a tiny fireball; it wagged its tail happily, and lapped the cinders out of the air.

After a minute the antler guy raised his head.

“Look...are you sure neither of you knows where Tamelene is? He also goes by names like Tam Lin, Thomas Lynn, anything similar? Dad got him from Mom as part of the settlement, and he’ll be so mad if I can’t bring him and the bike back.”

They both shook their heads.

For a second the antler guy looked like he was seconds away from pulling his hair out. At last, though, he took a few deep breaths in through his nose, and out through his mouth.

“It’s okay, this is fine...I can work with this...it’d be easier if there was just one of you, but maybe I can just bring back one of your charred corpses and tell Dad he wouldn’t come quietly...he wanted to deal with him on his own, but if I say he gave me no choice-”

Yeah, Stan wasn’t sticking around for that.

Quickly he finished freeing one of his wrists from the wire, and grabbed Ford, yanking him to his feet. Without stopping, he then lunged at the skeleton, giving it a set of brass knuckles to the skull that ended up knocking it clean off. They still had the element of surprise on their side-not for much longer, but long enough for him to untie Ford’s wrists, and then jump onto the bike.

Ford jumped on behind him, wrapping his arms around Stan as he began pedaling away at top speed.

By the time the antler guy had recovered from shock enough to yell **_“GET THEM!”_ ** they had already vanished into the trees.

* * *

“Well-” Ford gasped- “we just stole this bicycle for real.”

“It’s fine!” Stan retorted. “Maybe we can just-ditch it by the river or something-they can’t cross running water, right?” He was already getting a stitch in his side; shoot, he was out of shape. “Then we can-head home. They had ta-lure us away before they snatched us, so they probably-can’t get through the protection spells.”

“You don’t expect us and Shermie’s family to spend the entire summer hiding in our house!”

“No, but it’ll-give us time-ta come up with somethin’ else!”

At that moment there was an angry roaring noise from behind them, and a bright red light began shining through the trees.

Stan decided now was a good time to see if he could pedal faster.

And start looking for a flammable liquid somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno about you people, but I think it would be AWESOME to have a pet fire-breathing dachshund. As long as you could train it properly.


	13. Mr. (and Dr.) Pines's Wild Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, boys! Have a terrifying chase scene on a stolen bicycle!
> 
> Unfortunately, I was unable to finish this story today like I hoped, but oh well. Hopefully the excitement of this chapter will be enough to make up for it.

**So this is basically where you came in. Our heroes are fleeing for their lives on a stolen bicycle from an angry guy with antlers on his head and his crowd of somewhat-more-efficient henchfolk.**

**Oh, and his fire-breathing dachshund.**

* * *

Speak of the devil, out of the blue there was the sound of enraged yapping at Ford’s heels, and when he looked down it was to see the floppy-eared hellbeast running as fast as his short little legs could carry him, and snapping energetically at their back tire.

Part of him wondered how much the leader of the Wild Hunt (American Division) would kill him if he kicked his dog. If he was anything like other dog owners he had known, probably a lot.

Stan swerved the bike, sending them careening around a large tree; the dachshund let out a startled yelp, and a second later Ford felt a blast of heat scorching his pant legs from its fiery breath. He looked down in alarm to see that they, and the back wheel of the bike, had been set on fire. It wasn’t much-and apparently not enough to start the bike up-but it did give them enough of a burst of speed to leave the hell dachshund in the dust.

_ Of course. Of course the one time we need this thing to start flying, it won’t. _

_...Oh [BLEEP] my legs are ON FIRE! _

It is usually not advisable, when standing on the back of a bicycle which is being ridden at unsafe speeds over unstable terrain by a person who has not used a bicycle in years, for you to upset the balance by moving your legs to be within reach of your hands-particularly if neither of you is wearing a helmet. This, however, was an emergency, so Ford began frantically doing his best to pat out the flames on his pant legs one at a time.

This resulted in their nearly tipping right over, but he managed to finish the job as quickly as possible.

“What’s going on back there?!” Stan yelled as he yanked the handlebars in time to swerve them around another tree.

“Just-trying to deal with some-”

Ford was rudely interrupted by the sound of an engine roaring.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw, off in the distance but coming rapidly closer, a small fleet of full-fledged, fiery motorcycles, with the antler-helmeted leader at their head, and that red light emanating from all of them.

He blanched.

“PEDAL FASTER, STANLEY!!!!”

If they couldn’t get this thing flying, if they couldn’t get to a running water source, if they crashed or the chain snapped or the slightest mishap occurred right now, they were probably done for.

Ford looked over his twin’s shoulder frantically-and saw a dip up ahead.

“Go that way!” he yelled in his ear, “Riding downhill will increase our velocity, and hopefully give us an edge on them!”

“You better know what you’re doing!” Stan yelled back-but he obeyed.

As it turned out, riding downhill also brought them right into the middle of some kind of Boy Scout campsite.

Both men were too busy screaming to focus on much besides trying to swerve around the panicking campers; it was by the smallest stroke of luck that Ford caught sight of a bottle of lighter fluid lying on the ground, and with the type of balance only achieved by sheer terror he managed to snatch it up and pour it on the wheels, allowing them to at last become airborne.

This time, Stan appeared too focused, at least for the moment, on trying to save their lives from the Wild Hunt to be queasy about the height-all the more fortunate considering he was the one doing all the pedaling and steering. Ford wondered if this could be used as a type of long-term treatment for his brother’s acrophobia somehow. He reminded himself that that shouldn’t be the primary issue at the moment, and started looking down for a river.

_ This would have been a lot easier during the middle of the day, instead of at sunset, so I could see the sunlight reflecting off the water. _

Matters were not helped by the fresh roaring sounds, accompanied by the sight of the Wild Hunt’s motorcycles rising into the air behind them and in front of them, forming a circle trapping them in the middle.

Ford hoped that the scouts had managed to avoid their wrath somehow.

“Give it up!” Owain yelled over the roar of the engine. His dog stood on the handlebars of the motorcycle and yapped at them angrily, while his floppy ears were blown straight back by the wind. “You can’t outride us! We’re the masters of the sky, and if you just surrender now I’ll be merciful-”

Stan threw a certain gesture at him, and then tilted the handlebars almost straight down, sending them screaming back into the trees below.

“TRY AND CATCH US, SUCKERS!!!!”

* * *

They crashed through a tangle of leaves and branches, smashing into what felt like the biggest ones that could possibly be in their way. Ford buried his face in Stan’s shoulder, but he still felt them lashing his ears, tearing his clothes, and tangling in his hair (and possibly tearing some of it out, ouch ouch ouch). Through the noise he could make out the revving of the motorcycles, and an enraged howling on the air. He wasn’t sure if it was the man or the dachshund making the noise; either way, it was sending little chills of terror rushing up and down his spine.

Stan abruptly tilted the handlebars upwards again, so they were at least facing upright, and pedaled the bike straight through a cluster of foliage. Ford glanced over his shoulder, and saw that they had actually left behind the beginnings of a potential forest fire.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded.

“Just trust me! I know what I’m doing!” Stan yelled back, coming to a stop in the air.

Behind them a cluster of the motorcycles zoomed into view; the riders were wearing near-identical expressions of determined rage, as best Ford could see in the flames flickering from their vehicles. They surged towards them-and then came to a screeching halt when the trees came to life, branches stretching to life and then, with a horrible crunching noise, smacking them out of the sky. There was a chorus of screams, and a noise of screeching, broken metal when they hit the ground.

Ford looked back at Stan, and barely made out his grin as he started quickly pedaling again.

“Dryads can be pretty touchy if ya mess with their trees; they’ll attack whatever’s closest to ‘em if they think it could be responsible.” He resumed pedaling frantically.

Well. It was a bit of an underhanded technique, but also undeniably effective.

There was a whistling noise in the air, and Ford glanced to the left.

“DUCK!”

They both did, just in time to avoid being turned into shishkebab by a spear, which flew past and lodged quivering in an oak.

The elf coming towards them growled in annoyance, and stood up a little in the saddle, producing a long chain with a claw on the end and twirling it through the air.

Stan raised the bike, forcing it into a frantic climb just as he threw the chain forward, and it was only by the skin of their teeth that they avoided getting caught by the back wheel.

Stan came to a stop above another branch, and waved at the elf, making what Ford assumed was a silly face.

“Hey, long-hair! Your mama was a troll! Nyah nyah nyaaaaah!”

As soon as the chain was hurled again, he sent the bike plummeting back downwards, so instead of catching them, it wound around the branch. Ford, catching on to what his brother was up to, risked letting go of him to catch the clawed end of the chain and yank on it, hard.

Sure enough, the elf was pulled clean off the motorcycle, which went crashing to the ground, and was left dangling in the air by his hands.

“Nice job, Sixer!” Stan called gleefully.

Ford threw the hooked end up so it would dig into the branch, and grabbed back onto Stan as quickly as he could.

And then, up ahead in the distance, he saw a shimmering light which, as they pedaled closer, proved to be their potential salvation.

Stan saw it too, and frantically sent the bike flying towards the river.

“Just-gotta-cross the-”

There were roars from either side of them, and two motorcycles accompanying them, coming in from the left and the right with deadly intent.

“On my mark, go up!” Ford ordered quickly in Stan’s ear.

Stan gave a resolute nod, and continued pedaling at the same pace. But Ford could see his arms trembling, and already feel them slowing down; clearly his twin was more than a little exhausted, and trying to rely on terror to keep him going.

Their would-be captors were thirty feet away-twenty feet-ten feet-

“NOW!”

The bike surged upwards in the nick of time, meaning that the motorcycles crashed into each other. And the ensuing explosion sent them careening out of control, twirling and cartwheeling in ways that had Ford frantically struggling to keep a grip on Stan, bewildered about which way was up or if they were even heading towards the river anymore or-

There it was, right below them!

“Jump! Jump now, Stanley!” he ordered, letting go and allowing himself to drop.

* * *

It was a bit higher up than he would have liked, so hitting the water kind of hurt, in addition to being freezing cold.

But at least it wasn’t high enough to kill him, so he considered that a win.

Ford burst to the surface with a gasp, and looked around for Stanley-

There he was, coughing and gasping just a little bit downstream and looking a little like he’d been through a paper shredder.

And up above them, wedged into the branches of a tree and slowly beginning to set it on fire, was the bike.

Ford felt a small pang of guilt about that, and hoped that if there was a dryad inhabiting that one she would forgive them.

He splashed through the water, which was about neck height where he was, towards Stanley.

“Y-you okay?” he called.

Stan shoved his damp bangs out of his face and looked relieved to see Ford. He nodded, and spluttered.

And then the smile dropped from his face.

Ford followed his gaze, and saw the antler guy standing on the river bank on the side they needed to go to, and not looking very happy at all.

“...I thought you weren’t able to cross running water!” Ford objected. And immediately felt stupid about the fact that  _ that _ was his primary concern.

“Uh, that only applies when we’re  _ riding _ ,” the antler guy said in annoyance. “I waded across, and if you guys were gonna live to see tomorrow I would  _ definitely _ send you the dry cleaning bill for this cloak!” His dachshund growled in agreement, smoke curling between his lips.

The boys turned back to the other bank-but there were the other members of the hunt, weapons at the ready.

They were pinned in on both sides.

“It’s the end of the line for you,” the antler guy growled. He waved his hand, and a long black sword appeared. “For all the trouble you put us through, I’m just gonna kill you both, and tell Dad-”

Before he could finish his sentence, something smashed into him from behind, ricocheting off his helmet with a metallic  _ clang _ . He let out a startled squeal, and dropped the sword, doing so just centimeters away from stabbing himself in the foot. He whirled around; a cluster of figures emerged from between the trees, wielding flashlights and what seemed like an entire arsenal of weapons.

As they came forward, they revealed three particularly familiar faces.

Rebecca twirled another horseshoe in her hand. “Back off, reindeer games. I got a lot of iron with your name on it, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Dan looked the boys over, and groaned, before turning to Shermie. “See what I mean? They are  _ literally _ incapable of doing anything without some kind of ghosts or demons or giant flesh-eating shrimp coming after them!”

“...In our defense, it wasn’t our fault this time!” Ford called.

“A likely story,” the lumberjack growled.

“Knowing them, it could probably go either way.” Shermie twirled the frying pan in his hands.

And before the antler guy could react, he marched up and introduced it to his face.

Maybe it was unfair of him to think it, Ford thought as he watched their would-be killer crash to the ground, but he had never seen his older brother do something this cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, at least the boys handled this pretty well, for the most part, before they needed to be rescued this time.  
> And it technically wasn't their fault they got into this mess. Arguably.


	14. Wild Hunt vs. Pines Clan: Round 1

For a few seconds everyone was frozen. Shermie stood in place, still holding up the frying pan, looking a little surprised at his success at using it. The remaining members of the gang looked at each other uncertainly, with expressions like they hadn’t signed up for this when they went out searching for a thief.

The one who broke the stillness was the dachshund, who yapped furiously and lunged at Shermie, flames shooting from his mouth. Stan did the only thing he could think of: he surged halfway onto the bank, grabbed the dog, and dunked it in the river.

It was probably similar to wrestling with a long-haired eel on a foggy night; a cloud of steam rushed up and surrounded them when the mutt went underwater, probably from its flames being extinguished, and Stan could barely make out the silhouettes of his family charging into the river towards the Wild Hunt jerks before he was having to twist and struggle to avoid the beast’s teeth.

Stan’s feet slipped out from under him, and he went under the water, swept away by the current.

_ Please, if there’s a god up there, PLEASE don’t let me die by drowning in a fight with a lapdog. Especially not on the night before my birthday. _

Stan flailed frantically, and by a herculean effort managed to get his feet to touch the bottom of the river; from there he pulled his head above the surface so he could gasp in frantic gulps of air. The dog, he noticed, had stopped attacking him, and was instead scrabbling his tiny paws in a frantic effort to climb up into his arms.

“Not so high and mighty now, huh?” he asked.

The dog looked at him and whined, his wet ears drooping on either side of his big, pitiful red eyes. And even though he had chased him and Ford earlier...Stan was a bit of a jerk, but he wasn’t a heartless monster. So he sighed, and gathered the dog into his arms, before struggling to the shore. He felt a warm, smoky-smelling tongue bathing his neck as he climbed up.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. Now cut it out.”

To his relief he hadn’t been swept too far downstream; his family was only five feet away-and they had been busy.

Specifically, he saw that the group of Hell’s Angels were being driven off, running away into the forest as fast as they could, barely stopping to grab any of their motorcycles that were still intact. He set down the dachshund, who shook himself and then rushed up to his master.

The guy in question, Rudolph, was swaying a little as he struggled to get back onto his motorcycle. He looked even worse than before, if that was even possible; his cloak was shredded and full of twigs, and the bottom half of his face was covered in blood that must have come from his nose being broken by Shermie. One of his antlers had broken and was hanging in his face; he irritably tried to shove it back in place-and it snapped clean off. He stared down at it for a second with an expression that was almost pitiful, and then growled and hurled it off into the bushes. When he saw his dog running towards him, he let out a sigh of relief and scooped him up into the crook of his arm.

“There you are, Abezethibou. Good boy, trying to protect me from the nasty humans. Good job.”

He glared at them as he got on his bike.

“This isn’t over, humans! Mark my words, you have incurred my wrath! After I find Tamelene I’ll be back, and all of you will pay for-aagh!”

Another horseshoe came flying towards him from Rebecca’s hand, and hit his other antler, breaking the top. Seconds later he was fully on the motorcycle, which rode up the nearest tree and disappeared into the sky.

He didn’t even remember to retrieve the bike that had started this whole mess, which a few seconds later crashed to the ground, looking much the worse for wear.

* * *

“How did you find us?” Ford asked as they trudged towards the golf cart parked nearby. Despite Dan’s glaring at him, he had grabbed the twisted, broken remains of the bike and, after extinguishing them in the river, was now carrying them in his arms. Because hey, it wasn’t like they could just leave them there for someone else to mess with, and maybe if they gave the bike back, fully repaired, to the antler guy next time they saw him, it would take the edge off his anger a little.

“When no one had seen you for an hour, I had a feeling you were in some kinda trouble,” Dan grunted. “I went looking for you, and found the carts, and a lotta boot prints. And from there, we just followed the trail of destruction.”

“You know us so well.”

He and Stan explained what had happened with their being kidnapped and the thief/deserter/whatever scamming both them and Rudolph (they’d said his real name at some point, but Stan honestly didn’t care what it was) by mailing the bike to them.

“I’ve heard of a captive of the Fair Folk named Tam Lin,” said Rebecca thoughtfully. “The ballads all imply that he was rescued by a fair maiden, though.”

“Maybe they all heard wrong,” Stan suggested. At this point, he honestly didn’t care what the explanation was. He just wanted to go home and take a shower.

“Do we need to worry about them coming back and attacking us again?” Shermie asked, giving an anxious glance over his shoulder.

“Probably. But we can carry iron, rowan and ash when we leave the house-their kind’s allergic to ‘em.” Stan leaned against the back of the seat with a sigh.

“Maybe I should make you wear them on a string around your necks,” Shermie joked.

“Good idea; I like that.” Dan nodded his approval.

The twins groaned in unison.

_ This is gonna be a long summer with these two working together. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this isn't the end of the story yet. We still need to get to the boys' actual birthday.


	15. Gifts are exchanged, and Stan has "allergies"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: here there be schmaltz.

Despite the unfortunate incident of the previous night, the boys were not confined to the house the next day like they had been expecting. Dan and his axe were there, yes, but he seemed to be giving them a break, since it was their birthday and all. They decided not to question it.

After breakfast, the group got into the golf carts, with Stan driving the lead one, and they set off into the forest. Ford wondered what Stan was planning to show them; maybe the fact that there was a spot he was pretty sure was evidence of a UFO landing? Or maybe he was taking them to visit the Multi-Bear? They were the only things he could think of that would be of interest to everyone off the top of his head. But, knowing Stan, he had come up with an entirely unexpected surprise; Ford couldn’t wait.

“Okay,” Stan said at last, parking the cart, “c’mon, everyone out. For those o’ you not in the know, I gotta show ya somethin’ first so you’ll understand the significance of what I’m givin’ Sixer.”

The group humored him, stepping out onto the big, grassy hill. Stan gestured for Xander to come over to his side.

“Take a look at these cliffs, kid.” He gestured to the huge rock formations ahead of them. “Those remind you of anything?”

Xander tilted his head thoughtfully, and at last said, “...They kinda look like a biiiig pair o’ lobster claws.”

“No, that’s not-” Stan paused, and looked at the formation. “Well, yeah, I guess they kinda do. But that’s not what I’m talkin’ about.” He looked up at Ford. “Lemme see your keychain.”

Ford felt his heart leap. Was he talking about-

Had he somehow-

No, no, he couldn’t assume anything just yet; don't get too excited, just hand over the keychain.

Stan held it up, and let the tiny spaceship drop down so it was in an almost perfect parallel with the cliffs.

Behind them, Ford heard the group gasp, and the sound of rhythmic thudding; when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that Fiddleford’s knee bounce per second was going beyond any speed it had ever gone in all the time he’d known him.

“Are you tellin’ me that there’s _aliens_ in Gravity Falls?!” he flat-out squealed, eyes going wide with excitement behind his round spectacles. “Hot an’ holy hootenanny, Stanford!! This proves Thistlebert was right all along-oh banjo polish, I think I’m gonna throw up-”

He doubled over, gagging; Emma-May put a hand on his shoulder until he straightened up.

“No, no, I’m okay, I-”

He gagged again.

“Sorry, sorry-just gimme a sec.”

After a few repeats of this, he had calmed down enough to straighten up again. He blushed when he saw the looks everyone was giving him, and polished his spectacles on his shirt.

“Heh. Sorry. Just-go back to what ya were tellin’ us.”

Stan coughed. “As I was sayin’, yeah, we found evidence that aliens crashed here, makin’ those cliffs. Ford’s tried figurin’ out if they’re the reason why Gravity Falls is so crazy, or if they were brought here by the craziness, and so far he hasn’t found enough evidence one way or the other. But a few weeks ago, I discovered something that could be a valuable asset to his research. Something…” Stan produced a shovel from the back of the golf cart and used it to scoop up a patch of dirt, “...right under our feet.”

Ford’s jaw dropped at the metal square coming into view right in front of him.

Shermie was more vocal in his reaction: “No. Way.”

Stan twirled the shovel proudly, and then leaned on it like a walking stick.

“Surprise! I’m pretty sure it’s the entrance.” Then he admitted in a more sheepish tone, “...I’ve been havin’ trouble getting it open. It’s like we needa get a _really_ big magnet or somethin’ cuz it’s wedged in pretty tight. But once we do that, it’ll be a whole new research area for you, Sixer!” He gave Ford a huge, eager grin. “You can see if there’s any aliens still alive, and if they’re okay with you learnin’ about them-and if not, it means you probably have the place all to yourself!” Had he been a puppy, his tail would have been wagging a mile a minute.

Ford stared at the entrance.

He looked back up at Stan.

He looked back down at the entrance.

A trace of nervousness entered Stan’s expression. “...It’s okay, right?”

“Okay?” Ford looked up at Stan, and _beamed_ . “This is _great_ , Stanley!”

Stan smiled again.

“Of course, I’m a little annoyed that you’ve known about this for _weeks_ and kept it a secret from me-” he gave him a semi-hard punch in the shoulder- “but still! This is- _thank you_ , Stanley!” Ford crouched down by the entrance to the spacecraft, already thinking about how to get it open, wondering what they might find inside-

Right. They had other stuff on the itinerary today. Focus.

He straightened and cleared his throat, facing his brother. “As eager as I am to get started on figuring out how to open this, it’s time for me to give you your present now. So I need you to put on this blindfold.” He pulled it out of his pocket.

“All right!” Stan grinned-and then blinked. “Wait, what?”

* * *

“Is this really necessary?” Stan asked as Ford drove. “Blindfolds never lead ta anything good, and I already know we’re goin’ ta the lake, we talked about it on Tuesday.”

“Just put a little trust in me, Stanley. And no peeking!”

Shermie reached over and smacked Stan’s hand, which had been sneaking up towards his blindfold. Stan sulked.

Ford just grinned, and turned the golf cart to avoid a deer.

When they finally reached the lake, Shermie took hold of Stan on one side, and Ford took the other, and they hurried him to a specific part of the dock.

“Hey, whoa, what’s happenin-” Stan blinked and squinted as the blindfold was pulled away-and his jaw dropped at what sat in front of them.

An old, broken-down sailboat, resting on the dock because if it was in the water it would sink instantly. Its sails were torn to shreds, and the back end looked like it had had a bite taken out of it by a sea monster (which it probably had). Next to it were a pile of boards, a few jars of nails, and a large red toolbox.

Ford gave Stan a sheepish, hopeful smile. “I...thought maybe we could work on fixing it up together. Because the lake here’s not exactly the high seas, but you never know-maybe there’s some buried treasure around here we could dig up?”

Inside he felt his stomach twisting a little. What if this was still a raw subject for Stanley? After all, the last time they’d had a boat things had ended so painfully for them-maybe this had been a mistake, he should have thought of a better present for Stan, something without emotional baggage attached to it-

Stan was still staring at the boat, mouth opening and closing a little like a goldfish. And then, abruptly, he turned away from all of them, clamping his hand over his face.

“...Stanley…?” Ford took an uncertain step towards his twin.

“I got allergies, okay?!” Stan growled in a very wet-sounding voice.

“If you’re gonna lie about having allergies, it would probably be better to do it to people who _didn’t_ grow up with you, and therefore _don’t_ know that you’ve never had allergies in your life,” Shermie said dryly.

“Shut up!” Stan snapped over his shoulder, glaring with bloodshot eyes.

Ford looked at Shermie nervously, unsure if this meant that he’d ruined their birthday and he should never have-

Shermie rolled his eyes and shoved him towards his twin.

“...I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to upset you-” Ford began, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Seconds later he was being grabbed around the middle and having what felt like all the air squeezed out of him.

“This is the best present _ever_ , Sixer,” Stan whispered.

Ford sighed with relief.

* * *

Shermie shooed everyone else off the dock.

In a few minutes they’d go back to the house to open presents from the rest of the group, and have the ice cream cake which Rebecca and Emma-May had made for the boys.

But right now they were having a Moment, so all that could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sets out giant box of tissues*  
> At the risk of being presumptuous, I have the feeling some of you might need these. Stan certainly does.
> 
> Also, I would LOVE to have an ice cream cake for my birthday someday.


	16. Rotgut and spilling your guts: the perfect way to finish off a party

The party was a simple affair: eating, talking, drop-kicking gnomes who showed up and tried to raid the buffet. Rebecca took what felt like at least 300 pictures of everyone for the big family scrapbooks she liked putting together, including one of a big water balloon fight/game of chicken that broke out at one point, with Stan wearing Xander on his shoulders versus Dan carrying Fiddleford piggyback, while Ford was in the background trying to protect his plate of food from the deluge.

When the kids were finally asleep, Dan brought out a bottle of fresh scumble for the adults (except Emma-May, who declined because she was still breast-feeding Tate).

“Aren’t you a little underage to be drinking?” Shermie asked him with a skeptical eyebrow.

“Yes. Yes I am.” Dan poured out a cupful and offered it, grinning shamelessly.

There was a brief pause, before Shermie shrugged and took the cup. “At least you’re honest about it.”

Dan offered another cup to Fiddleford; he accepted it, sniffed at the liquid inside, and at last took a cautious sip of it.

“Good stuff, huh?” Dan asked.

Fiddleford swallowed. “Huh. It ain’t moonshine whiskey or a Mississippi Queen, but yeah. It’s got a nice kick to it.”

Dan’s eyes  _ narrowed _ . “You insulting my family recipe, McGucket?”

The smaller man shrank further into his chair. “N-n-no, of course not-”

“Oh no. You can’t say somethin’ like that and not be prepared ta back it up, farm boy. If you think you can gimme a better liquor, then you better put your money where your mouth is.”

For a moment Fiddleford quailed under his glare...but then his eyes narrowed. “Fine then. You’re on.”

He stood up, and headed for his car. “I got a bottle in the trunk. Let’s do this.”

* * *

Up on the flat part of the roof, Stan and Ford watched their friends as they started preparing for their drinking contest.

“...Should we do something?” Ford asked with a hint of concern.

“Only if they try ta drive, operate heavy machinery or go off in the woods.”

“Fair enough.”

Stan looked impressed. “I always figured Fidds was kind of a lightweight, but he’s actin’ like he can handle this.”

Ford grinned. “Trust me, he’s good. I also learned the hard way never to challenge him to a coffee drinking contest; he does  _ not _ back down.”

They laughed, and finished off their own drinks.

“...This was a great birthday,” Stan said at last, looking up at the night sky. “Thanks, Ford. For the boat.”

“I had a lot of missed birthdays I had to make up for.” Ford set aside his empty cup and leaned back, resting his hands on the hard shingles beneath him.

Stan copied him. “Heh. No kidding.”

For a while they just sat in quiet reflection, until Ford noticed that Stan seemed like he wanted to say something.

It wasn’t anything definite, but he seemed kind of...twitchy. He would look at Ford out of the corner of his eye, and then quickly turn his gaze back upwards. He also kept gnawing on his lower lip, like he sometimes did when he was anxious.

Ford wondered if this was something to do with whatever it was that had been bothering Stan a few days ago.

After a few minutes, Stan cleared his throat.

“...So, it’s gonna take us a while ta work on that thing, isn’t it?”

Ford snorted. “Remember how long it took us to fix up the  _ Stan O-War _ ? Of course, we had a lot less knowledge and experience back then than we do now, but even so I can see it taking at most a year before she’s finally sea-worthy. Or lake-worthy, in this case.”

Stan laughed a little. “Yeah. And we haven’t even started exploring the lake yet, who knows how long it’ll take before we’ve finished that.”

Something about that phrase sounded...odd. Ford looked at Stan with a frown.

“Why do you ask?”

Stan gulped.

“...No reason.”

“Stanley, you can’t start asking pointed questions like that and then pretend they don’t have any significance behind them.”

“Watch me.” Stan kept his gaze fixed on the sky. “Oh, hey-a shooting star.”

“ _ Stanley _ .”

Even in the dark he saw the way his brother’s jaw clenched. It was another second before he muttered, “...It’s stupid.”

“Tell me anyways.” It had been a phrase they’d used when they were kids, when one of them had something he was afraid of telling the other because he didn’t know how he’d react.

Stan closed his eyes, and his jaw trembled.

Ford thought about prodding again, but instead he stayed quiet and tried to coax subliminally.

_ It’s okay, Stanley. Stop letting whatever this is eat at you. Just talk to me. _

And maybe it worked and all those books about twins having secret psychic connections were true, because Stan began speaking all in a rush: “Ikeepfeelinglikeyou’regonnakickmeout.”

“I feel like if I do anything ta screw up your research or get in your way too much you’re gonna decide you want the house to yourself again, which is totally okay I know I’m a pain in the neck sometimes and I don’t wanna be in your way ever again or make you feel like I’m bein’ suffocating. I just-I don’t wanna ever lose contact with you again whether we keep living together or not and I’m sorry if that sounds clingy but it’s true, and I didn’t wanna say any of this cuz I know you’re sorry about what happened and I don’t wanna keep making you feel bad for it but Janet said I had ta talk to you about it before the week was out.”

Stan gasped a little as he finished, staring fixedly at the trees instead of at Ford, hands gripping the shingles like he was about to rip them off the roof.

It took Ford longer than he felt like it should have to figure out how to address all...that. He wasn’t even sure how he wanted to start; finally he decided to go with, “Look at me, Stanley.”

Stan tilted his head in his direction for a second, and then quickly looked away again.

“I said  _ look _ at me.” Ford sat up and touched his brother’s shoulder.

Stan’s eyes did the glance-and-dart-away dance again; he couldn’t tell if he was genuinely that uncomfortable with looking at him or if he was just being contrary, but either way he decided enough was enough and just put his fingers under Stan’s chin, turning his head all the way in his direction.

Stan stared down at his shirt; he was trembling all over now, so Ford decided not to push for direct eye contact. He just said, keeping his tone soft, “This is your home. If you ever leave, it will not be because I kick you out or in any other way tell you to go-or if I do, it’s because I’m possessed, or I have amnesia, or it’s a shapeshifter disguised as me, or in some other way I’m not in my right mind or not doing it of my own free will and you need to figure out what happened and save me.” It didn’t hurt to cover all the bases. “Is that clear?”

Stan blinked a few times, hard; at last he nodded.

“And I appreciate you wanting to spare my feelings, but Stanley, it’s okay to talk to me about things like this.” Ford wrapped his arm around him. “You know it’s not good for you to bottle it up when you’re unhappy about something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan muttered, rolling his eyes even as he leaned against him.

They went back to watching their friends try to drink each other under the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Far away, riding his motorcycle across the clouds, Owain ap Gwyn, son of Gwyn ap Nudd, broods angrily. He doesn't know much about that group of humans who bested him and his fellow Hunters, but he is determined not to let this humiliation stand. He will find Tamelene before the summer ends, and then he will return to take back his father's property which he just barely realized that he left behind in his haste to escape-and when he does, they will all pay.  
> Ohhhh, how they will pay for their insolence, and for breaking his nose with iron-though come to think of it, he kind of likes the new look it gives to his face. Maybe girls will start talking to him more; he thinks he has more of a "bad boy" look now, and they're into that, right?  
> From his handlebars, Abezethibou whines and paws at his arm; Owain sighs and signals to his men that they need to land briefly.  
> He ignores their grumbling, and finds a nice, private spot for his hellhound to do his business.


End file.
